


Never Runs Smooth

by Carpet_Madness



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: But her heart is in the right place, F/F, Trevelyan is a drunken bum
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 10:19:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5000974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carpet_Madness/pseuds/Carpet_Madness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The newly appointed Inquisitor, Jemima Trevelyan, holds the fate of Thedas in her left hand. No pressure. Thankfully, she has her witty best friend, Dorian, and (maybe not so thankfully) her terrible luck with women to keep her distracted from the impending doom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Jemima Trevelyan slowly opened her eyes to the daylight creeping through her Qunari drapes as she stirred in her Orlais III bed. She had no particular affinity with the Qunari, or Orlais for that matter; she merely thought they were the nicest ones in the shop. After being informed this was not the most politic method for fashioning Skyhold's interior design, a compromise was reached whereby she could keep the preferred furnishings for her room but the neutral Inquisition design was used throughout the remainder of the stronghold.  
  
As always, there was the temptation to roll over and attempt to drift back into sleep, but ever since her life took a drastically different course, culminating in her appointment as Inquisitor a few weeks previously, she had a purpose. Breaking the habit of a lifetime, Jemima found that she actually wanted to get out of bed immediately. A far cry from a long history of over-sleeping, missing briefings, and being late for duty. Not even being a Trevelyan could save her from being court-marshalled for her atrocious time keeping. By her brother.  
  
Somehow the idea of waking to stand sentry from dawn 'til dusk often without even seeing, let alone talking, to anyone was not enough to make Jemima bound enthusiastically out of bed. As the youngest of her House (an "accident" according to most; a "surprise" her mother reassured) all the good posts had already been taken. Still, she would rather that than being sent to the Chantry, her parents' preferred option. *shudder* It wasn't that she felt her role was beneath her. Far from it. It just didn't hold her attention due to the monotony. She had begged to be sent to The Conclave as the Trevelyan envoy just for a change of scenery. Well, that certainly happened.  
  
Today, even though there were no definite plans, that didn't mean for a second that Jemima would be stuck for things to do. Whether it was discussing plans with the War Council, sparring or heading out to her next expedition, Jemima had thrown herself wholeheartedly into her newly appointed duties. She often felt somewhat guilty that such devastating events had led to her finding her way in life. And then she remembered the near-crippling responsibility that comes with it and rationalised that this was excusable in the grand scheme of things.  
  
Jemima stumbled out of bed with the grace of a druffalo, and upon completion of her morning rituals headed down the stairs from her quarters. She popped in to see Josephine as her first port of call. The Ambassador informed Jemima that there was no urgent business to attend to and the War Council meeting was not scheduled until the afternoon.  


"Oh, before you leave, Inquisitor, we have a rather delicate situation. Comte Bastereau is visiting from Orlais and a personal item he holds in high regard has gone missing from his assigned quarters. Have you heard anything?"  


"No," Jemima replied, "what it is?"  


"It's a, um," Josephine's olive complexion took on a slightly darker hue, "studded leather codpiece."  


"Oh!" Jemima's eyebrows shot up and eyes widened. "Those Orlesians, eh?" she chuckled. Josephine shared a delicate titter underneath her hand. "It's the first I've heard but I'll make inquiries, don't worry."  


"If I may be so bold as to say it, Sera is the most obvious culprit. If you have the time to question her on this matter, you would have my gratitude."  


"Of course, although I've got a feeling she's not behind this particular prank. I'll get to the bottom of this. Tell the Compte not to get his knickers in a twist." Jemima added with a grin.  


"Thank you, Lady Trevelyan. I shall see you at noon."  
  
She was very fond of Josephine, thinking her charming, incredibly proficient in her role but just downright lovely as well. One of those people to whom "nice" is somehow the first word that springs to mind but hardly seems sufficient to do them justice, regardless of how many superlatives prefix it. She was also incredibly sweet in her bumblings when being complimented, which won her points in Jemima's eyes as this proved she did not think herself as superior to others, in spite of all evidence to the contrary.  
  
After their pleasantries, Jemima left to seek out Dagna in the Undercroft to enquire which materials were still required to upgrade the healing potions their travelling parties were becoming more and more reliant on over the course of their expeditions. Although they had scoured every region they had visited, righting all sorts of wrongs no matter how mundane ("special" goats? Seriously?!) she still had yet to come across this Amrita Vein that Dagna kept banging on about needing before the next beneficial effect could be added.  
  
With a sigh, Jemima exited the Undercroft and headed upstairs to drop off a book to Vivienne. She had stumbled across it on an expedition recently and recognised the title as one the former First Enchanter had mentioned in a previous conversation about the Circle. The book was accepted with a "thank you, my dear" but nothing else was forthcoming so Jemima quickly make to take her leave.  


"Be sure to suitably admonish that putrid little thief, Sera, when you see her. The poor Comte is devastated. The halla leather, obsidian studded piece is a work of art and was a gift from The Dowager herself. Honestly, I don't know why you allow her to stay."  


Jemima bit her tongue and calmly replied "I'm not jumping to any conclusions, Madame de Fer. In fact, I don't believe she is the one behind this particular 'crime' as you're suggesting. Leave it with me."  
  
The mage was powerful alright but her demeanour rubbed Jemima entirely the wrong way. Even though the youngest Trevelyan was somewhat sheltered, naive and eager to please, she could still see that Vivienne was a master manipulator who viewed the bigger picture as a selfish game of power and constantly sought the means to better her own position. Jemima had never been particularly comfortable with her noble heritage, more so when surrounded by those with the same sort of condescending arrogance Vivienne exemplified. She did not believe herself 'better' than anyone else, which was at complete odds with the majority of people she had been forced to socialise amongst in her former life. Vivienne's politics were conservative to the point of being backwards, whereas Jemima was a keen progressionist, a fact demonstrated by her unpopular decision to offer an alliance with the rebel mages in Redcliffe. The two women were polar opposites- one born into nobility and despised all that it entailed; the other made it her life's ambition to ascend to that status. It was fair to say there was no love lost on either side.  
  
That being said, the former Enchanter of the Imperial Court had foregone her cushy role to join the Inquisition's cause and had proven to be an exceptional ally on the battlefield. Whereas most of the mages available to Jemima would be pretty much stuffed if a combatant was able to get close to them, Vivienne's skill as a Knight Enchanter always left her room for manoeuvre when dealing with melee attacks. Jemima found her the most useful magical companion when in combat, however, that did not mean she was selected for expeditions as frequently as would be thought. Dorian's company was just so much more engaging on the road.  
  
Speaking of the man himself, Jemima cut through to the library to check in with her best friend. It appeared that he was currently engaging the librarian in a heated debate about the lack of "proper" books available. With a shake of her head, Jemima decided to leave them to it and instead diverted to the rookery.  
  
Leliana was replying to messages from her network when she noticed Jemima climbing the final stairs towards her.  


"Ah, Inquisitor, I have nothing to report at the moment but there are a couple of matters I will bring to your attention at the War Council. It's not urgent though" she said in her lilting Orlesian accent.  


"I will take that as 'no news is good news' for once. Splendid!" The Inquisitor was about to leave but thought she'd chance her luck, seeing as Leliana's omniscience was rivalled only by that of the Maker. "Say, I don't suppose any of your little birdies have heard anything about the Comte's missing undercrackers, have you?"  


The Spymaster let out a light laugh. "I had heard about that, yes, but I cannot help you as to their current location. If you do find them, I would strongly advise you retrieve them with a pair of gloves you do not care for. They will be tarnished beyond redemption based on the information I have gathered on Bastereau."  


"I'll bear that in mind! See you later" Jemima smiled as she walked to descend the stairs.  
  
The Spymaster was a massive asset to the Inquisition, of that there was no doubt. Smooth, unflappable and utterly engaging yet could order- and no doubt execute if she was in the field herself- assassinations and manipulations that could bring an empire to its knees without blinking. The Inquisitor had already been forced to step in personally to stop her from killing a suspected double agent without proof.  
  
Leliana truly terrified Jemima in many ways, which made her even more grateful that they were on the same side. Of course, this had not been the case upon their first meeting in the immediate aftermath of the Conclave explosion. At that time, though, she had appeared to take on the role of Good Guard to Cassandra's Bad Guard. With hindsight, the Spymaster may have been in too much shock at the scarcely believable death of her beloved Divine Justinia to fully unleash her powers, which Jemima was grateful for. She did not learn the full extent of the bard's dangerous side until the birth of the Inquisition proper. Plus, no one in their right mind would mess with the Hero of Fereldan's missus, even if she had been missing for months.  
  
When the Inquisitor returned to the library, Dorian and the elven book keeper were STILL in the midst of their discussion, which had now increased in volume. With a sigh, Jemima ventured that she really should step in this time as they were starting to draw a crowd as well as several angry shooshes from mages who had been disrupted from their studies. She thought Helisma's sounded particularly venomous. How did that work?  
  
"Ah, dear friend!" Dorian exclaimed in his rich voice as he flung an arm around Jemima's furthest shoulder to stop her from slinking away before taking his side, both figuratively and literally. "Would you kindly explain to our esteemed archivist that a proper library should contain more points of references than either Andrastian propaganda or Varric's entire back catalogue?"  


"I've already explained countless times..." the librarian started.  


Jemima raised her hand for him to stop. "I know, I know. And I think everyone in the vicinity knows as well. Can only stock what we requisition, yes? I'll add it to the to-do list. Don't worry, no one's blaming you personally," she turned her head "are they, Dorian?"  


Dorian huffed indignantly and returned to his plush armchair, that was more reminiscent of a throne, in his self-designated nook.  


"I'm afraid that's the closest you're going to get to an apology, sorry." Jemima cringed as she took her leave to follow the Altus whilst everybody else resumed their readings.  
  
"You do know I can ask Josephine to arrange to borrow writings or have transcripts sent? We have become affiliated with several Universities and Colleges recently so if there's anything in particular you're looking for, you just need to ask" Jemima offered as a conciliatory opening.  


"I am aware of the resources you have at your disposal. It would be dreadfully unbecoming to request that of you though. Oh how people would talk!" In a hammy voice, he sardonically continued "The evil, but undeniably handsome, Tevinter has got his claws into the holier-than-thou Herald of Andraste and is now garnering special treatment. First books, then delicacies from Minrathous, and, before you know it, human sacrifices to slake his unquenchable thirst for blood magic. That sounds about right, yes?"  


Jemima chuckled as she couldn't deny some of Skyhold's more narrow-minded inhabitants would not react exactly upon those lines. "Still, the offer stands. I'll say it's for me if you prefer? And then I'll stash them in secret hiding places for you to retrieve in the dead of night, how about that?"  


"Oooo yes, I do quite fancy the sound of that. Very mysterious" Dorian mused. "Oh! I have it!" he excitedly exclaimed. "We'll place them in chests of a certain colour, like Sera's ragtag bunch do. But it'll be much classier, naturally. Let's think. 'Magenta Tarohne's Cache'?"  


"Hmmm, I dunno. How about 'Veridian Valora'?"  


"Cerulean Callista?'"  


"Fuchsia Flora?'"  


"You're just acting like a barbarian now. Nevertheless, I shall ponder this further and will provide you with a list of readings that would be most gratefully appreciated, old bean" Dorian finished with a smirk.  


"Hey you" she playfully wagged a finger, "less of the 'old!'" Jemima laughed and squeezed his forearm in goodbye.  
  
The Inquisitor had felt an affinity with Dorian immediately upon their meeting. Whereas most of her companions had automatically judged him solely on the basis of his country of origin, Jemima saw the wit that the others dismissed as pompous postulating. Their camaraderie developed further as a direct result of escaping from the nightmarish future universe that foretold the end of the world at Corypheus' hand. But it was cemented when Jemima accompanied Dorian to meet his father.  
  
Although he had indicated that he wasn't welcome in Tevinter and did not get along with his family, it wasn't apparent to Jemima until she was privy to their discussions that the main reason for their falling out was due to his father's intention of using blood magic to change Dorian's preference for men. Dorian felt it necessary to have a witness at the time, which Jemima could understand completely, but they managed to eventually have a clear-the-air conversation after his father apologised for his actions. Following this event, the two friends bonded over both their families' negative reactions to being informed of their child's exclusive attraction to the same gender. Jemima's mother had refused to even be in the same wing as her youngest for nigh on a year after being informed, except on Satinalia- appearances did have to be kept, after all. Many very fine Antivan brandies were raised to their collective toast- "to booze and bad relatives," although a lot of the time, it had to be said, it was just an excuse to break open the good stuff.  
  
Moreover, they shared a similar outlook on life. Whilst both took their responsibilities and major decisions very seriously, that did not mean the lighter side of life had to disappear. Albeit, with the events they faced and as the scale of their task became apparent, it meant the humour at times was blacker than the Tevinter Divine's socks. Nevertheless, laughing in the face of adversity was very much their way, to the disdain of certain colleagues.  
  
Jemima descended the stairs into Solas' art studio, it seemed. Since arriving, he had taken it upon himself to paint murals depicting the Inquisition's actions. He had also saved Jemima from being killed when she initially acquired the Anchor and gave the so-called Herald of Andraste directions to Skyhold. Apart from these things, Jemima did not really have anything positive to say about the strange elven apostate. It appeared that no matter what she said, he disapproved. Jemima particularly disliked the way he looked down on others and was often quick to judge based entirely on race. Dalish? They've got it all wrong. City elves? Too far gone to be redeemed. Qunari? Ooft, don't get him started. Actually, about anything. He did go on a bit.  
  
Disliking the idea of discord within her inner circle, Jemima felt she should at least make an effort to try to get along with Solas in a more positive way. She strode over and greeted him warmly.  


"Good day to you too, Inquisitor. What brings you here?"  


"Oh, just catching up with everyone. Rare quiet day, you know?"  


"Fair enough. I am well. I hope you are too. Is there anything you were looking to discuss in particular?"  


"Ummmm...." Jemima racked her brain for something convivial, so as to not offend further. Their colleagues? No, if he bad mouthed anyone she actually liked, she would feel compelled to defend them and earn further scorn. Their next planned mission? No, she wasn't sure how much could be discussed outside the War Council. Urgh, going to have to resort to this one again.  


"Can you tell me more of your journeys to the fade?"

"Ah, yes, of course. It really is fascinating. I remember a time when I..."

Unfortunately, Jemima did not hear any of Solas' 'fascinating' story as her mind tuned out his voice and, for some reason, an internal minstrel started playing Andraste's Mabari. This only stopped when Jemima realised that Solas had ceased talking and was looking to her for a response. Internally cringing, she hazarded an educated guess that the tale was not over.  


"That truly is remarkable. Please continue?"  


"Of course. It was only when the spirit..."  


_'Oh that dog he guards Andraste,  
_

_Without arrogance or fear'  
_

The song cut off. Solas was looking at her for a response.  


"Please continue?"  


"Have you been listening, Inquisitor? It really is a simple yes or no answer."  


"OF COURSE I've been listening!" Jemima bluffed. "Yes?" She tentatively answered. Noticing the scowl starting to form on Solas' face, she quickly added "you are right- it is a simple yes or no. I would have to say my answer would be no."  


An agonising amount of time passed and Jemima could feel beads of sweat forming on her forehead. Finally, Solas broke the silence and stated "You show a much deeper understanding than I would have given you credit for. We are lucky to have you as our leader."  


Visibly relieved and blushing, Jemima hoped Solas would think this from the compliment- although this only added to her blushing- rather than the near disastrous faux pas that had narrowly been avoided. Thanking Solas for his kind words, she decided not to push her luck and took her leave, claiming she had to speak to Cullen about troop movements.  
  
The Commander was a decent chap. Bit miserable but certainly dedicated. She didn't get why everyone kept going on about his hair though? They'd shared a nice game of chess together previously and it was refreshing to not talk shop for the entirety of the battle of wits. Normally, their encounters involved Jemima keeping him and Leliana from either coming to blows over the war table or talking each other in circles forevermore. When Jemima walked into his office he was intently poring over various reports from the scouting network. The Inquisitor apologised for disturbing him and decided to leave him to it.  
  
Crossing the battlements back towards the main hall, Jemima paused and looked over the edge towards the makeshift infirmary on the lower level. She planned to visit Blackwall and was half tempted to take a near suicidal leap over the edge to save some time. She had done it before, after some egging on from the Chargers during a particularly heavy session, and, somehow, had managed to shrug it off with a loud grunt and no damage whatsoever; however, the Inquisitor was wearing her semi-sensible head today and instead walked via the main hall.  
  
Nodding a quick acknowledgment to Solas on her way, Varric was scribbling at the table immediately beyond the door Jemima had used to enter the hall.  


"Ah, her Inquisitorialness! What brings you here?"  


"Just having a wander and catching up with everyone before I get dragged away to another War Council meeting or a meet and greet with some noble prat wanting to make more demands of us. What you up to?"  


"Catching up as well, although, via written correspondence, not a leisurely stroll like some of us. Still on for Wicked Grace tonight?"  


"Unless Corypheus himself appears in the courtyard, I'll be there! It's the highlight of my week, you know that."  


"Just remember to bring more coin this time. The minimum 'in' is going up this week at Cullen's request. Poor deluded fool still thinks he can win back what Josephine has taken off him since we started"  


"Pfft, I think I'll just stay for the banter and the beer after a couple of hands then. Everyone can read me with their eyes closed."  


"No no, you did well to start with."  


"That was because I didn't know what I was doing. I managed to throw everyone off by being so bad!"  


"Well, you should try to go back to your ignorant past then. My tip- get shitfaced before we begin."  


"Oooooo! I will take that as all the permission I need then!"  
  
Jemima left with a grin. Varric was a good guy. Fiercely loyal to his friends and always had an epic yarn up his sleeve. Trevelyan had read his Tale of the Champion book dozens of times at home in Ostwick and was, rather embarrassingly, starstruck upon realising he was THE Varric Tethras after she awoke in Haven, following the initial dealings with the breach. She may have giggled like a schoolgirl. She may have asked him to sign her copy. She may have tested his patience on several occasions by obsessively asking about the various characters he depicted in the tale. But it was to Varric's credit that he took it all in good grace. Cassandra chastised her for inflating his already massive ego and Jemima made a conscious effort to reign in her exuberance for his work. The irony.  
  
Jemima walked out the Great Hall, descended both staircases and took the safe path towards the stables to see Blackwall. It was rather odd- he had some great chat on the road but was dull as ditchwater one on one. Hopeful that today might be the day to change it, Jemima enthusiastically swung around the stable door and said hello.  


"Inquisitor" he gruffly mumbled.  


"How's things with you?" she asked.  


"Same old."  


.......  


"Ok then, good talking."  


"Inquisitor."  
  
Scratching her head as she left, Jemima surmised that he needed someone else to bounce off, like Sera, for the magic to happen, although she would no doubt laugh like a demented hyena if it were worded in that manner.  
  
Jemima climbed back up the stairs and decided to pop into the Herald's Rest (oh, she hated that name!) for a cheeky wee eye opener. Varric's earlier comment had put her in the mood. She ordered a wheat beer from Cabot and saw that Bull was in his usual corner. With a wave to the other Chargers, she pulled over a chair and sat next to their indomitable leader.  


"Hey Boss." the qunari spoke in his booming bass voice. "Early start for you. Nice!"  


"Ach, why not? Got War Council in a bit and I find it easier to make decisions after a few of these. Plus it makes it marginally more fun" Jemima replied, as she took a gulp from her tankard. "Just the one today, though, so I won't doing anything like making No Pants Friday compulsory throughout Skyhold before you ask!"  


"You've missed a trick there. Helps boost morale. It would also allow us to find out if Cassandra was telling Sera the truth that time you were in the Emerald Graves." He addedwith a wink. Or so Jemima surmised, seeing as he had an eyepatch over his other eye.

"Oh yeeeeeaah. I'd forgotten about that." She hadn't. She'd thought about it plenty.

"Uh huh" he chuckled. "Before I forget, thanks for the tip-off you gave me about that chantry sister. The one you overheard talking about me in Haven. That was good to know."  


"Didn't think you needed your ego stroked any more in that department, Bull?"  


"True, but she stroked something other than my 'ego' last night so you have my gratitude."  


Jemima groaned and shook her head. "I have no idea how you do it!"  


"You know that everybody wants to ride the Bull" he proclaimed with justifiable arrogance.  
  
Jemima listened and continued her drink as The Iron Bull described his evening in rather vivid detail. She was glad her tankard had emptied just as the qunari started physically demonstrating certain positions.  


"Oh, is that the time?!" Jemima looked at her wrist, for some unbeknown reason. "I really better be heading off. Still want to catch up with some folk before I get dragged off to move little flags on a large map. See you later, Bull."  


"Nice talking with you, Boss."  
  
On the surface, Bull was only interested in fighting, drinking and fucking. His over-powering appearance and personality merely added to this perception so it was very easy to underestimate the man's superior spy skills. He was sharp as a silverite sword and incredibly eloquent, particularly for someone who deliberately added a definite article before his name to sound more like a mindless weapon than a person. The fact he admitted to being a spy before even joining the Inquisition, weirdly, made Jemima trust him from the start. She wasn't comfortable with his links to the Qun but liked him very much and hoped it would not cause conflict down the road.  
  
The Inquisitor climbed the staircase behind her and made her way over to Sera's room. She appeared to be in the middle of counting something on her shelves of randomness.  


"Hey Sera."  


"Uuuuurgh! You made me lose count, Inky!" the tempestuous elf screamed.  


"Sorry" Jemima said sheepishly. "What are you counting anyway?"  


"Don't matter now. Whatcha doing 'ere anyhow? Shouldn't you be doing, I don't know, big hat stuff?"  


"In a bit. Thought I'd say hello as I was passing. Oh, actually, I've been asking around- don't suppose you've heard anything about Comte Bastereau's missing codpiece?"  


"No way?!" Sera wrapped her arms around her ribs and guffawed. Realisation slowly dawned on her and her laughing fit stopped. "Wait, hold on, d'ya think I took it?! Ewwwwwww!! I wouldn't touch THAT with a shitty stick!"  


"No, I didn't think it was your style. Sorry again for making you lose count."  


"Don't worry about it, HERALD! Go on."  


Jemima groaned as she left. She despised that title but no matter how many times she denied it, it still stuck. So much they named the bloody pub after it.  
  
Sera was spontaneous, mischievous, immature and mad as a bag of cats. Jemima found she could be both great fun and massively irritating within a very short space of time. The Inquisitor tended to alternate between Varric and Sera as her chosen range fighter on expeditions and found the Fereldan rogue to be good company on the road. As well as being a naturally gifted archer, since arriving at Skyhold, Sera had developed an eye catching new technique that involved her smashing jars of elements to coat herself in battle. This had moved her up the pecking order somewhat and she was quickly becoming a mainstay of Jemima's travelling party.  
  
The damnit-I'm-not-the-sodding Herald was about to leave the tavern but remembered that Cole was on the top floor. Feeling a bit guilty that she'd nearly forgotten him, again, Jemima found him in the loft on his own.  


"Hello Cole."  


"It wasn't blood in the bath. Fingers on the scalp, intimate, and then the moment is gone."  


"Um, ok then..? Listen, Cole, do you have any idea where Comte Bastereau's leather codpiece has disappeared to?"  


"Yes."  


Taking a deep breath to calm the quick frustration that had crept in, Jemima asked "Where is it?"  


"Where the squirrels can find it."  


Befuddled, she pondered "is it in a tree?"  


"Yes."  


"Why in Thedas is it in a tree, Cole?!"  


"It holds nuts."  


The Inquisitor couldn't help herself and burst out laughing, much to Cole's confusion.  


"You could say that! Oh my goodness, Cole, you really do crack me up at times! A kind thought and ingenious idea but I should really let Josephine know or we'll never hear the end of it from our Orlesian dignitary. And I'd better save the squirrels. Maker knows what sort of nasty things they could pick up from it! We'll talk later."  


"How do you know?"  
  
Solas described Cole as "unique" and Jemima could not agree more. The confusing, softly spoken young man had the innocence of a newborn lamb but the deadly skills of an assassin. His ability to read minds and verbalise others' thoughts had not earned him many friends in the Inquisition. As well as accusations of being a demon, poor Cole had also put both feet in it on several occasions by letting companions' secrets slip in the worst possible company and created much awkwardness as a result. Jemima found it hilarious. She probably wouldn't have had this opinion if Cole could read her mind. Due to the other members of the inner circle's dislike of the human spirit hybrid, coupled with the fact the Inquisitor also favoured a dual weapon fighting style, Cole was nearly always left in Skyhold, which gave him a lot of time to "help" others.  
  
Jemima descended the stairs of the inn and exited into the courtyard. She looked along the trees and spotted a rather garish item of underwear hanging from a branch near the training dummies. The Inquisitor also saw the woman she had fallen for big time.  
  
Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena Fucking Pentaghast.  
  
Jemima didn't stand a chance.

 


	2. Chapter 2

"Pretend you don't know this about me."  
  
Jemima could pinpoint the conversation where she started to fall in love with Cassandra. The Seeker was exactly The Inquisitor's type physically. As Sera so eloquently put it, "she's well fit!" Plus her determination, skill and achievements made her a remarkable woman who could only be respected; however, her stoic demeanour did nothing for Jemima. At times, she wondered if The Hero of Orlais was allergic to smiling or having fun at all. That was until Cassandra was caught reading a rather fruity novel, penned by none other than Skyhold's own Master Tethras. Her initial embarrassment, and chastisement at Jemima's suggestion that she should borrow her previous copies, eventually gave way to the Seeker begging the Inquisitor to order that Varric should finish the next chapter. Her girlish enthusiasm for "smutty literature" was at complete odds with the blunt, furious, pious character portrayed to the outside world. Jemima had seen a brief glance of it and liked it. A lot.  
  
Walking away from that conversation left Jemima blinking in astonishment. _Cassandra is adorable? When did that happen?!_ She had thrown several light-hearted flirty comments Cassandra's way at Haven and most, but not all, seemed to have been taken well. _Maybe this could be something?_ She turned around again to see the Right Hand of the Divine elegantly slicing a practice dummy to pieces. This time, though, with fresh eyes, rather than seeing the serious Seeker who personified duty, all she could concentrate on was the swing of her strong arms, the positioning of her agile legs, the pertness of her- _no, no, enough of that chat, Trevelyan._  
  
The Inquisitor tended to rotate the three warriors at her disposal on expeditions due to the fatigue incurred from being on the frontline. The initial jaunt to the Emerald Graves brought Cassandra, Sera and Dorian together. Over the course of this particular outing, the Seeker surprised Jemima by trading witty barbs with her best friend and entertaining Sera's monochromatic views on the world. It appeared Cassandra was the only member of the inner circle who was prepared to listen to the elf's standpoint without immediate, complete dismissal and, at one point, even admitted that she had been wrong in some of her previous conversations, offering a sincere apology. And then Sera tried to guess the colour of her underwear.  
  
Funny, humble, compassionate, gorgeous and a force of nature. As Jemima lay next to Cassandra in their shared tent, while Sera and Dorian took their turn to keep watch, she couldn't help but stare at the Seeker, looking softer and more peaceful in sleep without her customary scowl. Her eyes traced the distinctive scar across the warrior's cheek and she longed to brush it with her fingers. She yearned to entwine those calloused fingers with her own. Her thin hair braid had fallen down her back like a rat's tail and Jemima ached to cut it off with a carving knife.

This was a revelation. Jemima had not felt this way about anyone for a long, long time.

* * *

Her first, and only, love was Zoe, the quartermaster of the Trevelyan estate. Zoe had recently completed her apprenticeship with another Marcher noble house and acquired the position whilst Jemima was away at finishing school in Tantervale, as hard as that was to believe nowadays. They met for the first time when Jemima returned home to her family to celebrate Satinalia, halfway through the final year of her studies.

After greeting her parents and siblings and sharing a family meal, the youngest Trevelyan returned to her childhood bedroom with the burning desire to cast away her formal clothes and indulge in some dual weapon training, something frowned upon as 'unladylike' where she had been cooped up for months. To her intense irritation, however, she found that all of her sparring armour in the wardrobe had been replaced by frilly dresses with varying degrees of poofiness, ranging from ruffle-tastic to full-on hedgerow skirts. Her mother's doing, no doubt. Absolutely fizzing at this, she stormed over to the Quartermaster's office to demand a new set of training gear.  
  
Her temper dissipated immediately upon entering as she saw the slight, boyish brunette, who was rather taken aback at the abrupt intrusion. Their faces both calmed and moved into shy smiles as they were simultaneously hit by a lightning bolt of mutual attraction. Jemima had known for a few years by this point that her tastes lay with women, but she had neither admitted them to any other nor acted upon them. Nervously, but curiously, the two made their introductions.  
  
Jemima explained her current predicament to Zoe, having to repeat a couple of things as she'd spoken far too quickly for anyone to understand. The Quartermaster was quite tickled by the noble's highly gestured version of the story, likely caused in equal measures by exasperation at her mother and excitement around this deliciously intriguing new person. When the rambling had stopped, Zoe calmly stood up, walked to the back of the storeroom and collected a box. She returned and handed it to Jemima, a cheeky grin lighting up her pale blue eyes and accentuating her delicate features. In a softy spoken voice, Zoe clarified "your mother's Lady-in-Waiting asked me to set these aside for your return. I suspect she knew what your reaction would be to the dresses." Trevelyan beamed as she opened the box to find her original outfits, then redirected the joyous smile to Zoe, who returned it in kind. They stayed like that for several moments, occasionally looking down and lightly giggling, then back up again. Maker only knows how long that excruciating scene would have gone on for if Jemima's eldest brother, James, hadn't interrupted by walking in with a requisition for a new hilt.  
  
Over the next few days, Jemima found any excuse to go see Zoe. At one point, she even visited to see, just on the off chance, if the Malachite she accidentally sold a couple of days ago was still in storage. Of course it wasn’t, but it allowed another gentle conversation with increasingly flirty undertones to take place. On Satinalia itself, the house held an enormous feast with enough food and drink for everyone, including the staff. Towards the end of the evening, all formalities were dispensed with and nobles and servants mingled as equals for one night of the year. Jemima and Zoe conversed quietly in a corner away from the main crowd, both staring longingly into each other's eyes, occasionally brushing hands when they were sure no one was looking. When it became obvious that the vast majority of the revellers had consumed far too much mulled wine to be observant, they snuck out into the gardens, found a secluded spot and kissed under the stars. It was slow and tentative, gentle and all so new, to both of them, it turned out.  
  
They continued to meet every evening in the gardens, under the shadow of night, for clandestine kisses, and idle chats whilst being wrapped in each other's arms. Before they knew it, though, the time had come for Jemima to return to school. The tearful goodbye came with promises to write each other every day, which they both did. It made for some very confusing reading at times, however, given that there was a delay of a fortnight between the writing and receipt of these daily letters. Nevertheless, the one thing that could not be mistaken was the immense fondness that had quickly formed between the pair.  
  
Jemima detested the finishing school she had been sentenced to attend. Etiquette lessons, dancing and flower arranging were most certainly not her thing. Her joy at completing the course ('an abject failure' - her final grade) was doubled at the prospect of being reunited with Zoe. Upon her return to Ostwick, before even going to the main keep to see her family, Jemima ran straight to the Quartermaster's office and pulled Zoe into a passionate embrace, which was fully reciprocated. After their initial euphoria had calmed down, holding each other's faces, they conspired to meet that night in the storeroom, where Zoe also kept her lodgings. There were less serious consequences to Jemima being caught sneaking out of the family home than Zoe being caught sneaking in, after all.  
  
First, though, Jemima had to face the consequences of her diabolical report from Tantervale. The family evening meal brought wailing despair from her mother, stern words from her father, and relentless teasing from her siblings. Ordinarily, this would have made Jemima distraught, however, it all bounced off her as her mind could only think of what lay in (the) store later that night. Finally, the meal ended and the future Inquisitor made a point of leaving the table with a completely over-the-top, but perfectly executed, appreciation for the gracious hospitality bestowed upon her then excused herself. She could hear her mother's shouts in the background- "See, she does know how to act; she just chooses not to! Stubborn girl!"  
  
Jemima's brisk walk quickened into a trot and then a jog as she crossed the courtyard towards the storeroom. Her heart was racing in anticipation, nervous excitement pumped through her veins. Looking around to ensure no one was watching, she quietly snuck through the door and crept up the stairs. Zoe's room was intimately lit up by candlelight and the Quartermaster turned from her desk when she realised Jemima had arrived. After a welcoming kiss, Zoe proceeded to pour each of them a glass of wine and moved to sit on her small wooden bed, beckoning for Jemima to join her. With shaking hands, the two of them downed their drinks within 3 glugs, then laughed when they realised the other had done exactly the same. Zoe took Jemima's glass from her and placed it and her own on the floor while remaining seated. Thinking "this is it" and mentally preparing herself, Trevelyan was disappointed when Zoe moved away and retrieved a book. Getting down on one knee in front of her paramour, she started reading a poem Jemima recognised from her literature lessons. It was not one she particularly cared for. Not wanting to spoil the moment, she patiently waited until the end, but couldn't help asking "Poetry? Really?"

Blushing and clearing her throat with a nervous cough, Zoe responded "well, ah, you see, I've never done this before. I'd heard that you're supposed to recite poetry when you want to try to get a woman into bed."

Smiling, Jemima reached over and ran her fingers through the Quartermaster's soft, short hair. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm already on your bed," Jemima stroked Zoe's warmed cheek as she looked up, "but I would very much prefer if you were to join me in it instead."  
  
Needless to say, the young couple consummated their blossoming relationship that evening and both declared their love in the aftermath. The routine continued for several weeks- spending their nights together, Jemima sneaking back to her room in the keep at sunrise. Her siblings teased that their youngest sister was showing a never-before-seen sanguine disposition as of late, which she tried to shrug off as the joy of being home from Tantervale. She was not quite ready to announce that the cute little Quartermaster had captured her heart. Unfortunately, her temperament soon moved into more melancholic territory.  
  
One evening, following the family meal, Lord and Lady Trevelyan requested that Jemima join them in the drawing room. Although she was desperate to get away to be with her love, Jemima realised that this could only mean a serious conversation. She was not wrong.

Her father started, holding her hands firmly but gently. "Jemima, dearest. My youngest babe. I can scarcely believe my little girl is now of an age to find her place in the world."

_Uh oh.  
_

"As is the family way, my preference would be for you to join the Chantry" he continued. "I know you are keen on your skills with the blades so you are most fortunate to have the choice between joining the Templar Order or the clergy. You're a bit old for the Templars but I'm sure I could pull a few strings to see your training accelerated. Which would you prefer?"

Visibly shocked, Jemima blurted out "NEITHER!"

"Come now child," as he put a reassuring arm around his daughter, "it is the Trevelyan way, you have always known this."

"But, Tristan and Judith are both in the Chantry. Haven't we already met their quota?!" Jemima exclaimed, throwing her father's arm away, panic taking over.

Her mother intervened. "Well, young lady, if you are so against the idea of following our family tradition, I suppose the only other alternative is to find you a suitable husband. I can send a messenger to see if Bann Armistead's middle son, Oliver, is still a bachelor," levelling a glare, "although I doubt he would be interested if he has heard about your dismal performance at Tantervale." Oliver Armistead was old enough to be Jemima's father and then some. He was also a port-pickled buffoon with personal hygiene issues, and a strange fascination of teaspoons.

Jemima, by now, was utterly incredulous. "There is even less chance of that happening! I don't want to join the Chantry. I'm not saying I don't believe in the Maker but I'm certainly not devout! I want to stay here and, and..." She tailed off as she actually had no idea what she wanted to be when she grew up, which definitely didn't feel like just now.

Confused, Lord Trevelyan calmly explained "there are no suitable positions left here, dear child. James is the heir, Tarquin is the Captain of the Guard, Tristan is away in the Ostwick Circle and Judith is the local Mother. The Chantry or marriage are your only real choices."

"No, no, no" Jemima was furiously shaking her head and grabbing her hair in frustration. "I can't leave, I need to be here."

"It's only natural to get homesick" her father soothed. "I thought you would have lost that after being away for the last year?"

"It's not that," she started weeping "I don't want to leave... her." Jemima's head sank.

"What? WHAT?! WHAT IS SHE TALKING ABOUT?" Lady Trevelyan screeched. "WHO IS THIS 'HER' AND WHY CAN'T SHE LEAVE HER?"

"Calm down, Amelia" Lord Trevelyan pleaded, noticing their daughter was extremely distressed following the sudden outburst. "It's alright, dear" putting his arm around her shaking shoulder once more. "Now, who are you referring to?"

Jemima waited until her sobbing had moved into a more steady rhythm, took a deep breath and spluttered out "Z...Zoe."

Her parents looked at each other, non-verbally asking if the other knew who she spoke of. Lord Trevelyan's eyes widened when he realised. "Zoe? You mean Miss Atkinson, the Quartermaster? Why can't you leave her?"

Jemima looked up, deliberately avoiding her mother's eyes. She tried to compose herself as she whispered "I'm in love with her."

"NOOOOOO!" Lady Trevelyan fell against the couch as if she had just been shot by a crossbow. She always did have a flair for the dramatic.

Trying his best to ignore his wife's theatrics, Lord Trevelyan softly asked "Are you sure? How long has this been going on for?"

"It's the only thing I've ever been sure of in my life" Jemima quietly replied. "She feels the same way. Since Satinalia."

Her father nodded. "Well, I'm happy for you both, however, I'm not entirely sure how we can..."

"GET OUT!" Her mother jumped up and roared. "NO CHILD OF MINE IS ONE OF...THEM! GET OUT AND DON'T COME BACK UNTIL YOU'VE SEEN SENSE!"

"Amelia! Calm yourself down, woman!" her father started. Jemima didn't hear any of the rest of their argument as she sprinted out the house and headed straight to the storeroom.  
  
Zoe comforted her paramour, who by now was hysterical. And not in a ‘ha ha’ way, as you have probably realised. While Zoe rubbed Jemima's back, whose head was buried into her shoulder, she couldn't help but worry about the implications of their relationship now being known, as well as wanting to support her love. Would she be fired or arrested? Would they be forcibly separated? Would they elope? What the fuck were they going to do?  
  
Jemima's sobbing had been so loud, neither had heard the arrival of a visitor to the loft space of the store. Looking up, Zoe jumped to her feet and squeaked "My Lord!" An act that made Jemima faceplant the straw mattress.

"Miss Atkinson. I have been hearing good things of your work recently. Do keep it up," Lord Trevelyan started formally then moved into a wry smile. "But I'm sure you're aware that I am not in the habit of visiting my staff to dish out compliments at this unholy hour. Please excuse me while I speak with my daughter."

After Zoe scurried away hurriedly, Jemima sat up on the bed and her father joined her, wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulder in the process.

"I have been thinking since our earlier discussion, my child. You are quite right that your siblings have held up their duties so we should, through sheer numbers alone, have the means to be more flexible in your choices; however, that also means that it wouldn't be fair to your brothers and sister if you were allowed to do whatever you wished. I found myself in a quandary," Jemima's head sunk, waiting on confirmation her father was going to give her no say in the matter; he continued "but then I was reminded of a conversation I had with Bann Ryecroft recently. Apparently, it has become rather popular in Fereldan for children of noble houses to be enlisted for public service. And I don't mean as officers; I mean starting as recruits. Proper grunt work. Sounded barmy to me but he said it helped boost public opinion of the family. Made them seem more relatable somehow. It wasn't something I paid much heed to but it appears that it may be a solution to our current problem." Jemima looked up reticently, not daring to show any hope just yet. "But before you think about accepting," her father held his palm up, "you should know that you would have to make certain sacrifices so your siblings are not disadvantaged by following their pre-destined paths." By this point, his daughter had shed all pretence and was waiting wide-eyed, with baited breath for the terms of her freedom.

"Firstly, you would join the Guard, and you would have to stay in one of the houses assigned for that role in the village. You could no longer live in the family home."

"I thought that was a given anyway with mother?" Jemima shrugged.

"Give her time, dear. Second, you will start as a recruit and there will be scope for promotion but you can never progress beyond the rank of Sergeant. Anything more than that could undermine Tarquin. And thirdly, due to the longer working hours of your starting rank, you would be unlikely to be able to attend as many social gatherings as you do currently."

Jemima waited for the sucker punch condition to be delivered, but it didn't come.

"Those are the terms. So, I now ask you, my child, are you prepared to give up the luxuries of your birthright in order to avoid joining the chantry and remain here?"  
  
Jemima moved into the tiny guard house the next day and Zoe brought her belongings a few months later. They were blissfully happy for many years, and betrothed for the majority of that time. The wedding never happened, unfortunately, primarily due to Lady Trevelyan's outright refusal to publicly acknowledge the relationship. Time definitely hadn't helped in that respect. Over time, sadly, as is the way for many young couples, as they grew up, they grew apart. Although they held nothing but love for each other, resentment had started to trickle in and threatened to corrupt their love into hate if things had continued. They made the mutual, heart-breaking decision to call time on their decade-long partnership. Jemima moved back into the family home and Zoe remained in the house.  
  
Trevelyan spent the next year in a daze. By then, she was a Sergeant, but had started to find that rank under threat due to her lack of motivation, as demonstrated by her frequently sleeping in for duties. This was mostly caused by drinking heavily both with her colleagues and on the social circuit nearly every night, but also by her no longer viewing the role as the necessary cost for her happy freedom, as she used to. Moreover, Jemima's siblings had not taken kindly to her return to the family home or her inclusion at formal events again, arguing that she now had all of the rights and none of the responsibilities they had to endure. She could acknowledge and understand that but, in truth, at that time, she just didn't give a shit about anything or anyone anymore.  
  
After a year of grieving, Jemima started to return to herself once again. She took steps to redress her recent behaviours and threw herself back into her work, regaining her charges' respect as a result. Her social life remained busy, although she managed to curtail her drinking habits somewhat. And then there were the dalliances. A fair few at one point. None progressed beyond sating idle infatuations, however, two of them affected Jemima badly. It came to her attention that one particular seductress had only been interested in the bragging rights to be gained from 'banging the Bann's daughter,' rather than falling for Jemima's charms. She was furious that she had been toyed with in such a cynical way. When it happened a second time, rather than feeling simple anger, it cut her to the core. She was devastated that people saw her just as a title, not as a person. Was she really so devoid of personality that this was how everyone viewed her? Would she be as unpopular as a health and safety officer at the Grand Tourney were she not of noble birth? Or a hyperactive jester suffering from Tourette's in the Grand Cathedral on All Soul's Day? This crisis of confidence led Jemima to swear off all romantic entanglements until someone special, who she was sure was interested in her and not her name, came into her life.  
  
Two more years passed and Jemima was bored out her mind. Her job could go no further, and, apart from her father, her family did not take much to do with her. She was lonely, in more ways than one. Cobwebs could have formed. She was desperate to get away and do something. It didn't matter what, just _something_ to get away. Even though she felt like a caged beast, that alone didn't merit speaking up and asking for a new task. No, the proverbial straw was learning that Zoe had become betrothed to another. Jemima was happy for her, and Lauren seemed like a nice girl, however, she couldn't stop the wistful emotions tinged with jealousy that flooded her upon hearing the news.

She had heard rumours of a Divine Conclave taking place imminently. Maybe she could represent House Trevelyan? Father was now too elderly and frail to travel long distances and James' wife was due to drop their third child within the following couple of weeks. Surprisingly, the Bann and his heir both accepted her proposal. And thus set in motion the chain of events that led her to where she was now- creepily staring at Cassandra sleeping.  
  
_I haven't felt this strongly for anyone since Zoe. And that was so natural and obvious that there was no way it wasn't going to happen. And such a long time ago. And, Maker knows, I'm completely out of practice in this area. How do I let her know? Should I even say? She's hardly likely to be interested in me. She's way out of my league. Would it be worth the hurt?  
_  
Jemima racked her brain for a way to gain the Seeker's affections without giving the game away just yet. _Do something nice for her. Something that could be taken as a friendly gesture, or maybe more, but can be downplayed if I find out I'm completely off the mark_. Remembering the encounter that changed her perception, she thought she had cracked it.

* * *

The party returned to Skyhold the next day and Jemima sought out Varric immediately after debriefing the War Council on their expedition. She informed him, much to his amusement, that Cassandra was a big fan of his Swords and Shields serial and she was desperate for the next chapter to be published. The series was dead as far as Varric was concerned but he agreed to write something else up just to see Cassandra's face. Jemima was so excited she started clapping gleefully and bouncing on the spot before she caught herself and gave Varric a firm handshake instead. A wickedly cunning thought suddenly came to her in the moment.

"Actually, could I be really, really cheeky and request something in the story?" Jemima queried.

"Now now Inquisitor, you should know not to try to interfere with the author's story," Varric lectured. "Usually ends up with someone having their feelings hurt. Or demanding royalties."

"I officially disclaim any right to those if that make you happier then?" Jemima raised her eyebrows in question and the dwarf shrugged his approval. "No, I was going to ask if you could do me a favour. I don't think you actually realise just HOW big a fan Cassandra is of these books. Is there any way to maybe add in some, I don't know, subliminal suggestion?"

"Yeah? Such as?"

"Well," fighting down the blush on her face, Jemima continued "there could maybe be a romance between a red headed female rogue and a tall, dark and handsome female warrior?"

"Why are you trying to set up Cassandra with Leliana? The Spymaster's well and truly spoken for, didn't you know?"

"What? No, me!"

Varric looked at her blankly. "Uh, you're as blonde as me. In fact, I think I'm going to call you Strawberry."

"I'm not. It's just faded because I'm getting older" Jemima grumbled.

"Wait, HOLY SHIT! How did I nearly miss that?! You?! And the Seeker?! When did that happen?" Varric exclaimed, wildly gesturing his hands to his temples several times.

"Nothing's happened. I would like it to but, please, keep quiet about it. I haven't said to anyone yet. Even Dorian" the Inquisitor confided. "I'm kinda hoping that this may give Cassandra a hint or at least warm her up to the idea."

Varric crossed his arms, shook his head in bemusement and chuckled. "You do realise this is possibly the weirdest conversation I've ever had? The grumpy, stabby Seeker likes my terrible romance novels, and now you want me to write a new one, with a cameo appearance by you and her? This is such a bad idea. I absolutely have to do it! It'll take me some time though so don't expect me to just magic up a book by the time you walk over to her."

"Of course. I know it'll take a while to write, print and get the obligatory 5 star review for the front cover, don't worry about it. I'm in your debt Varric." Jemima grinned and emphatically shook the dwarf's hand before walking away. As she did, she could hear the shout behind her "That is a very dangerous statement to make, Inquisitor. Might come back to bite you in the ass one day!"

* * *

_Back to the present._

Jemima moved over towards the tree at the edge of the training area and managed to find a sturdy, long stick. She gripped the end and extended her arm in an attempt to retrieve the misplaced codpiece but it was just beyond her reach. An extra handspan would do it. Jemima searched for a suitable replacement but realised there was none to be found. A sword would probably be long enough. Tentatively, she approached Cassandra, who was displaying an impressive level of focus.  
Unfortunately, Jemima had noticed that as her feelings for the Seeker had grown stronger, she had become less and less composed in her company. _Right, deep breath, this is professional, no need to get nervous. Here goes-  
_

"Seeker, I apologise for disrupting you. Could I possibly borrow your sword for a moment?"

Still in her fighting stance, Cassandra cocked an eyebrow in query.

"I need it to reach something for Josephine."

The seeker begrudgingly stood down, rotated her sword and handed Jemima the hilt. The Inquisitor made her way over to the tree and struggled to balance the end of the heavy blade between her thumb, index and middle fingers as she reached for the undergarment that had become the bane of her morning. Inevitably, her grip proved too precarious and the blade fell, cleanly removing nearly a full ringlet of Jemima's curls as she dived away.

"MAKER!" Cassandra exclaimed, running towards Trevelyan. "What in Thedas were you trying to do? You nearly killed yourself!"

Jemima had instantly turned an even whiter shade of pale than normal. She picked up the severed hair and sadly patted the part of her head where it used to live. Shaking herself out of her shock, she stood up and pointed to the squirrel feeder in the tree.

Cassandra looked towards where Jemima had pointed, then turned to regard her incredulously. "What? Oh, for pity's sake." The seeker used her extra height to easily pluck the codpiece from the branch. As it slid down her sword, Jemima suddenly remembered Leliana's words and grabbed her hands over Cassandra's to force the blade to the ground, along with its passenger.

Before the Inquisitor could marvel that her hands were finally on the Seeker's, Cassandra seethed" Do NOT do that to me again!" Throwing her sword on the ground in anger, she looked ready to thoroughly admonish Jemima but stopped abruptly when she saw the offending item of clothing. "What is the..." Crossing her arms and pushing her shoulders back, scowl in place she looked at Jemima squarely. "Explain."

"Well, ah," the Inquisitor squirmed and rubbed the back of her neck, "long story short is that Cole's new word for the day is 'nutsack.'"

Cassandra let out a Disgusted Noise™.

Bashfully, the Inquisitor explained "sorry, Cole thought it was food holder for small animals but it belongs to some pompous Bastereau and Josephine needs it back to prevent a diplomatic situation. Leliana warned the interior was more deadly than raw red lyrium so I was trying to save you." Jemima rather feebly waved the insides of her wrists, adding"Yay- Heroic Inquisitor?"

"Hardly." Cassandra scoffed but a small smile appeared at the sides of her mouth. "I am glad you did not injure yourself. I would have had to fill out an accident form. It would have taken me the rest of the week."

A joke?! And I made her smile! Andraste strike me down now- it's a miracle! Jemima beamed.  
  
The Inquisitor bent down and handed the sword back to Cassandra then retrieved her stick and hooked the thong around the end, holding it at arm’s length as they walked the short distance back to the training dummies.

"Was there something you need, Inquisitor?" Cassandra asked, quite obviously wishing to resume her training, now that the nonsense was finished.

But Jemima didn't want the moment to end. Not after making such a monumental breakthrough. She chucked her cargo on the floor and faced the Seeker. Her stomach felt like she had eaten a butterfly house for breakfast and she subconsciously started to wring her hands. _Something I need? Ooft, if only you knew. Keep it clean, Trevelyan.  
_

"Do you have any advice for me?"

"We must guard Skyhold carefully..."

_Those eyes. I could just sink into them and swim. Well, doggy paddle anyway.  
_

"Do you have any advice for me?"

"Treat Dorian with caution..."

_I know she's badmouthing my best mate right now but, Maker, I could listen to her voice all day.  
_

"Do you have any advice for me?"

"You know what you need to do."

_I didn't even hear what she said there. I was too busy wondering what her hair would feel like just out the bath. If I ran my hand from her forehead to the back, would it be soft and slick back or spiky and splash me?  
_

"Do you have any advice for me?"

"Inquisitor?" Cassandra studied Jemima curiously and placed her hands on her shoulders, moving her and inspecting. "Are you quite alright? I know the blade barely missed you a few moments ago but have you sustained a recent head injury? Did you hit it when you landed after jumping away?"

Snapped out of her daze but dizzy from Lady Pentaghast's proximity, the Inquisitor spluttered "What? No. Why do you ask?"

Cassandra drew her arms back to herself, one horizontal across her waist, the other perched on top with her fist nestling underneath her chin. "Well, you've just asked me the same question four times in a row. I thought you may be suffering from a concussion."

Jemima immediately turned beetroot and stammered "I'm sorry, I just really respect your opinions, that's all. Oh, is that the time? I need to get to the War Council now."

She tripped over her feet and started walking away but then spun on her heel when she remembered what was left on the ground. It took three attempts to pick up the odious item with the stick due to her nerve-induced shaking but she eventually got everything in place and headed towards the stairs, with her arm held at a perpendicular angle.  
  
_Real smooth, Trevelyan_. She smacked the side of her head with her free hand. _Are you completely incapable of being anything other than the most awkward twat in all of Thedas when you fancy a woman nowadays?!_


	3. Chapter 3

Several weeks had passed and Jemima had been on the road nearly the entire time, helping to establish camps throughout the newly scouted regions. They hadn't dealt with any of the major problems yet, deciding instead to secure a solid foothold before acting to spread their influence. During the course of these travels, they had finally tracked down the elusive Amrita Vein and, luckily had also managed to salvage some seeds, which could hopefully be used to grow their own stock of the herb. These had been found in The Hissing Wastes but, unfortunately, the party got pretty badly banged up in the process. No serious injuries, thankfully, but it was unanimously decided to steer clear of the region until they had all sharpened up their skills somewhat. On their return to Skyhold, the Inquisitor and those who had accompanied her were ordered to rest for a few days, allowing time to let the bruising, swelling, and Jemima's sunburn calm down before their next exploits.  
  
Although Jemima was desperate to do all she could to help, especially after seeing what would happen if she failed in Alexius' future timeline, a large part of her couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief at the enforced time off. The first evening was spent enjoying a long bath, a beer and then her bed for a glorious, warm, uninterrupted and nightmare-free sleep. Awaking the next day, Jemima felt her mind was refreshed but her body was fatigued, the paradoxical after effects of having a proper rest for the first time after running herself ragged for weeks on end. She was also famished. And too knackered to be bothered going to the kitchen.  
  
Chancing it, Jemima crept down the stairs from her quarters in her jammies, with bouffant bedhead, her arms crossed over her chest and a boob supported by each hand. She peeked her head out the door to see if there were any guards or servants kicking about to put in a request for breakfast in bed. A rare misuse of her privileged position, although she intended to make a dent in the stack of reports on her desk whilst eating and afterwards so, in fairness, it wasn't completely indulgent. There were no such staff to be seen. There were, however, half a dozen extremely well-dressed and coiffed dignitaries accompanied by Josephine. As Jemima noticed this, the Ambassador's eyes caught her own. Josephine's eyebrows shot up and her hand quickly covered her mouth in shock at the sight of their dishevelled leader. The Inquisitor darted away from the doorframe and scrambled back up the stairs to her room, jumped into bed and pulled the covers over her head in mortification. Not a couple minutes later, there was a knock at the door. She sheepishly shouted to allow entry and Josephine ascended the stairs, stopping at the foot of her bed.  
  
Armed with her clipboard and candle combo, looking concerned, she asked "Inquisitor, do you need something?"  


"I was hoping to put in a breakfast order, sorry" Jemima grumbled.  


"Ah," Josephine smiled sweetly, "I'm afraid that may be difficult as it is lunchtime already, your Grace."  


"Really?!" She groaned and rubbed her face. "Must've been more tired than I thought then. And my name's not Grace. Did any of our guests see me?"  


Smirking, the Ambassador answered "I think they merely saw the blur of movement as you retreated to your quarters. They were quite disappointed the Herald of Andraste vanished."  


"Urgh, I wish that title would vanish" Jemima grimaced. "What did you tell them?"  


"I explained that the Inquisitor has been working tirelessly to secure a peaceful Thedas and bring the Divine's murderer to justice," Josephine spoke quickly, as though she had repeated that line a thousand times. She then slowed and built to "that she heroically fought off Tevinter cultists on her most recent expedition and had been ordered bed rest by our healers as she has been pushing herself too hard. But that even those instructions could not keep her down and she is so desperate to return to duty that what we saw was her trying to sneak out of her quarters to valiantly lead the next mission but getting caught by our party. I am currently here to chastise you," although her playful look made that last statement even more incredulous than the previous lines.  


"Wow," Jemima shook her head in amazement. "You even made me believe that! You're a true asset to the Inquisition, Josephine."  


The Ambassador blushed slightly and nodded. "Thank you Inquisitor. I do what I can."  


"I'm particularly grateful you left out the part about me being a lazy git looking for bacon" she grinned.  


Josephine giggled and smiled at Jemima. "That would hardly be diplomatic of me to say now, would it? Speaking of which, I best return to our guests. I shall request that some food be brought to you shortly. Good day, Inquisitor, and I hope your energies return soon."  


The Ambassador left the room, a picture of poise and elegance. Jemima stumbled out of bed and staggered over to retrieve the reports from her desk. She plonked them on the spare side of the bed, walked around, propped the pillow up against the headboard and snuggled back into her cosy position. The food arrived not long after starting on the third report and Jemima moved back over to the desk, eating, reading and writing, then just reading and writing for the rest of the afternoon.  
  
By the time the sun had just started to set, she was completely fed up. Good progress had been made in her administrative backlog, though, so she decided to finally get dressed and go for some fresh air. She remembered the seeds that had been acquired and, therefore, headed to the garden. Horticulture was not her field of expertise so she asked the new botanist for a hand to ensure the precious seeds would sprout. Giving her thanks, she looked around and spotted Dorian and Cullen sitting at the chessboard. Deciding to join them, Jemima wandered over.  
  
"Inquisitor!" The Commander jumped up from his seat and knocked over several pieces as a consequence.  


"Relax, Cullen. You're allowed some time off, my man! No need to feel like you've been caught skiving" Jemima chuckled. If she'd been ordered to rest up for a couple of days, he was surely due a month by this point.  


"Yes, of course" he mumbled.  


"Ah, but now the board is tarnished." Dorian spread his arms whilst remaining seated. Shaking his head, he added "Tsk, tsk. We'll just have to call it a draw, correct?"  


Cullen frowned. "I'm sure I can remember where the pieces were actually. Most of the ones that have been moved were no longer in play anyway."  


"No, no, I've forgotten already and, therefore, have no way of corroborating your version," Dorian spoke whilst pushing the board away. "There would be dubiety over the eventual outcome so it's not worth continuing. Maybe next time, friend" the Tevinter concluded, looking into Cullen's eyes whilst absentmindedly stroking the end of his moustache.  


The Commander looked as though he was about to say something in retaliation but glanced at Jemima and backed down. "I'll leave you both to it. Good evening" and started walking away.  


Jemima grabbed his arm and implored "Cullen, wait, you two play again. I was just saying hello. I didn't mean to interrupt."  


He turned around and shook his head. "No, I have plenty to be getting on with and, besides, I'm not in the mood to start a fresh game. Watch him, Inquisitor. He's a slippery one."  


"Oh come on now, it's not Wicked Grace! He can't exactly hide a spare king up his sleeve, can he?"  


Cullen gave a light chuckle. "Maybe not, but he will try to distract you. Good luck, Inquisitor" as he turned and left.

Jemima took the vacant chair and grinned at Dorian. "Don't remember where the pieces were, eh?"  


"He was three moves from checkmate. Thank you for your timely intervention" as he returned the smile. "I've played him a dozen times now and can't even put up a decent fight. Woe is me."  


"Too busy gazing longingly at Cullen to pay attention, I'd wager" Jemima winked as she reset the pieces on her side of the board.  


As Dorian followed suit, he admitted "Hmmm, I can't even deny it. Maker, he's pretty." Stopping what he was doing, he looked up at Jemima and slightly frowned in curiosity. "What gave me away?"  


"You were twirling your moustache as you were looking at him."  


"Twirling my moustache?!" Dorian shrieked, then composed himself, remembering the serene surroundings. He hissed "I am affronted, Jemima Trevelyan. I do not twirl my moustache. Honestly, you are trying to make me out to be some sort of effeminate fop. Or an evil Tevinter caricature. Or even worse, an Orlesian! How very dare you!"  


Taken aback by the sudden tirade, the Inquisitor racked her brain as to why Dorian had taken such offence. She slowly realised, "You don't even know you're doing it, do you?"  


"Doing what? I have nothing to admit to as you are quite clearly making this absurd allegation up."  


"Ok then. You keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better" she huffed, but then thought she should clarify. "Well, you were stoking the end of your moustache, not twirling it per se."  


Incredulous, Dorian spat "Then why did you say twirling? There's a ginormous difference between playing with my manly facial fuzz and twirling, I'll have you know."  


"Oh, sorry, I thought they were the same thing?" Jemima, by now, was thoroughly bewildered.  


"Urgh, Ostwick simpleton. I despair of you" crossing his arms. The Inquisitor looked around feeling somewhat chagrined, wondering if she should leave. After a few awkward seconds, Dorian calmed and shrugged in a gesture that could be taken as an apology. "But in answer to your earlier question, no, I was not aware of that particular nervous twitch." Sighing he continued "that revelation has sullied my mood somewhat. I detest being predictable. It irks me immensely."  


"So I see, mister grumpy pants" Jemima teased, thankful the situation had been resolved.  


"LORD Grumpy Pants, thank you." With a joking throw back of his head, he added "Pah! I don't know why I put up with you and your unending insults" finishing with a side smile whilst setting the remainder of his chess pieces.

The two friends started their game, chatting idly about their ailments, the book Dorian had just finished earlier in the day and Jemima's pyjama incident. The game was evenly matched, something that wouldn't have happened several months previously. The Inquisitor's skill had increased considerably in recent times, which she put down to real life War Table practice. As they continued their conversation, various Skyhold inhabitants passed them by. Minaeve pottered about with the herbs, Flissa just seemed to wander aimlessly. Neither drew comment from the two at the chess board, however, the sight of Mother Giselle walking past on her way to the small chapel drew a dirty look from Dorian.  


"Her hat is an utter monstrosity" he glared as he made his move. Sitting back, he confided "I actually asked Sera to steal it for me so I could order some improvements but she refused because, and I quote, 'Andraste!' Not 'I can't swipe from one of the Maker's earthly voices' or 'thieving is wrong.' 'Sera, would you kindly procure Mother Giselle's hat for me?' 'No.' 'Why not?' 'Andraste.' Have you ever heard anything so ridiculous?"  


"Aye, she has an unusual moral compass at times, does our Sera" Jemima chuckled, moving her Queen into play. "So, what were these 'improvements' you were going to make?"  


"I would have chopped it in half for starters and removed that ghastly, oversized triangle at the front. Then added some embellishments, maybe a smattering of piping, or perhaps merely dyed it to a softer, more flattering colour. Speaking of which, someone should really tell dear Mother Giselle that a lady with so ample a posterior as herself should NEVER wear white robes."  


"Ooft! Settle petal! That was bitchy even for you!"  


"Oh come on, that interfering busybody is hardly my biggest fan. Forgive me for not taking the high road on this occasion" moving his Mage to take Jemima's Tower.  


Jemima shrugged "Fair play" and picked up a pawn to make her move. She stopped in mid-air after glancing up, just as the door from the hall opened to reveal the Seeker, presumably en route to make her daily devotions in the chapel. The Inquisitor hadn't seen Cassandra for a fortnight and her feelings of longing couldn't help but be revealed, such was the strong, physical effect the woman now had on her. Pawn still held in the air, Jemima tracked the Seeker's path slack jawed until the object of her desire disappeared behind the chantry door.  


Dorian sat back and arched his fingertips together. "My, my. It appears it is my turn to tease now" he stated smugly.  


Catching herself, Jemima completed her intended move with a blush and joked "what gave me away? Be warned- I may have a hissy fit if you point it out. Fair's fair."  


"Oh please, the puddle of drool on the board would have made it obvious to anyone, let alone someone with such powers of perception as yours truly. So, the Lady Seeker has caught our illustrious leader's eye then? Ooo scandalous!" He teased further "was it the chains that did it for you? Worst case of Starkhaven Syndrome I've ever heard of. Filthy midden!"  


"It's in spite of that unfortunate introduction, thank you" Jemima corrected. She was grateful that the subject had been brought up. It had been some time now and she had only spoken of her feelings to Varric thus far. Rationalising that it couldn't hurt to talk things through and would hopefully help her to be a bit less uptight around Cassandra, she decided to ask for Dorian's advice on the matter. "I could actually do with some help to tell you the truth. I have no idea how to tell her how I feel."  


"Well, how have you expressed your interest in the past?"  


"A click of the tongue accompanied by a wink and a 'hey!'"  


"Oh dear." Shaking his head in dismay, he added "I'm guessing you only attracted the easiest slatterns in the Free Marches with that one?"  


"Hmmm, yeah, you may have a point there. It did work though!" added with a cheeky grin. "Definitely wouldn't with a lady such as the Seeker" she sobered. Rubbing her face in frustration, she groaned "Urgh, I'm crazy about her. I know I've probably got no chance but... ach, I don't know. It's confusing."  


Sensing his friend's discomfort, he quietly reasoned "well, as much as we josh, you're a good sort, Trevelyan. Just make her see that. Throw in a few playful, but subtle comments and you'll be fine."  


"Thank you, Dorian, but I go to bits around her. Gibber like a fool or zone out and stare at her like a simpleton. I've got it bad."

The mage couldn't help but stifle a laugh. "Not going to lie, I REALLY want to see this in action! Sounds delightfully cringeworthy" he smirked. "Nevertheless, if all else fails, just try to woo her the conventional way."  


"What? Like candles, poetry, flowers, and all that shit?"  


"Eh, less of the 'shit,' I feel" as he scrunched up his nose in distaste. "Yes, I know Cassandra can come across as the epitome of stubborn, hateful, dutiful rage that she does, but what woman cannot gush at being wooed?"  


Sceptically, Jemima replied "uh, yeah, thanks for the advice on lady-killing, Dorian. Didn't realise you were so well informed."  


"Of course I am" speaking as though this were the most obvious thing ever to be known. "No one can resist me when I set my mind to it. All part of the perfect Tevinter genes and the very best schooling. As prone as I am to criticism of my country, I shan't deny that it has served me well in the charm stakes."  


"You're not short of confidence, that's for sure. Wish I shared that attribute. Regardless, I can't see Cassandra being the sort of woman who would react favourably to that kind of approach. I think she'd be more likely to decapitate the flowers and stab the poetry book."  


"Stabbing a book?! That's pretty far-fetched, come on now. Even punching a bear would be more plausible."  


"Ha ha! That would be AMAZING!" Jemima threw her head back in emphasis then moved her Mage to protect her King. "Thank you for the conversation, dear friend. It has been good to talk this through with someone. I have a trick up my sleeve that I hope will give the Seeker a hint as to my feelings. Until then, I shall endeavour to not embarrass myself too much in her company and make a few subtle compliments if the opportunity arises."  


"Sounds like a plan. I wish you the best of luck. Certainly better than you have had in this game" as he moved his Queen to take the Mage. "I believe that is checkmate."  


"Ah. So it is. Well played, Dorian." She stood up. "Anyway, I'm going to go for some supper and an early night. Hoping to receive clearance to move onto the next mission tomorrow. Would you be up to it?"  


"I'm fine, thank you. I believe Blackwall, Sera and yourself fared much worse than I."  


"Good stuff. I'll let you know as soon as I hear."  


"Until then, my friend."

Jemima left the table and made her way to door that would take her back into the Great Hall. As she opened the door, she felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to see Cassandra. In surprise, Jemima jumped and let out a bizarre noise, part deranged laugh, part humming, and ending in an undignified squeak. The Seeker frowned at her in confusion. In fairness, Jemima's face matched her expression until she looked away in enraged embarrassment.  


"I apologise for frightening you, Inquisitor..." Cassandra spoke stiltedly. "I was merely wishing to enquire about your health and to see when we shall depart on the next expedition."  


"No need for an apology. I'm not entirely sure where that reaction came from" letting out a weak laugh. "I'm feeling much better, thank you, and we'll hopefully be in a position to set off tomorrow." _Run, run away!_ "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to eat and get an early night to have any chance of that happening. Goodnight, Seeker. I wish you a pleasant evening."  
  
_Yeah, that aim of not embarrassing myself any further worked out really well. Complete and utter numpty!_

* * *

The next morning, Jemima awoke at the first hint of sunrise through her drapes. Stretching into a long yawn, she was pleasantly surprised at how good she felt. Her bruises were now yellowing but were no longer sore to the touch, her grip felt strong once again, and her mind was eager to get moving. Deciding to dress properly, this time, the Inquisitor grabbed a quick bite to eat and informed Josephine and Cullen over the breakfast table that she intended to press on with the next expedition later that morning. After fending off several questions about her wellbeing, she eventually got the go ahead and sought out Dorian to inform him they would be setting off in an hour. Sera and Blackwall were still pretty sore so Varric and Cassandra were due for the next call up. Jemima descended the library staircase into the hall and made her way to the dwarf.

"Varric, my charming Kirkwall-ian friend," adding a mock flourish "would you do me the honour of accompanying our party on our next bold and daring mission?" Standing up and putting her hands in her pockets, "in, like, an hour?"  


Fanning himself with his hands, he retorted "why Inquisitor, it would make me the happiest 'Kirkwall-ian' in the land!" Pausing, he added the aside "We're Kirkwallers, for reference. Call yourself a Marcher?" then returned to his best lady-that-swoons impersonation. "There is but one thing that would make me even happier in this moment and I believe you will share in that sentiment." He crossed his arms and nodded "it is done."  


Gasping and bringing her hands to her mouth, Jemima excitedly asked "you don't mean?! It's finished?!"  


"Yep. Hot off the press. Please tell me we have time to give the Seeker her gift before we leave?"  


"I was just about to request her presence on the next expedition. Perfect timing!" Grabbing his arm, Jemima added "Oooo, let's go!" accompanied by gleeful clapping.  


They walked down the hall together. Well, the Inquisitor skipped, more precisely. Thoughts of Cassandra jumping into her arms in appreciation flew through her mind, then pulling her into a fiery, passionate kiss, then saying 'to the Void' with everyone and falling to the ground together in front of the training dummies and... _No, no, calm yourself down, Trevelyan. First of all, is your breath acceptable? Wish I'd washed my hair this morning. Does this belt buckle look strange and bulky underneath this tunic?_ Thankfully, Varric spoke to save her from the downward spiral of inadequacy.  


"We're going to Crestwood next, right? Hawke's been there for weeks now."  


"Soon, I promise." Noticing the clear annoyance on the dwarf's face to her answer, she tried to justify her actions. "From the nightmare future, we saw that Corypheus intends to assassinate Empress Celene. In order to prevent that, we need to secure an invitation to the ball at Halamshiral. To secure that, we need to start making some waves, politically, in Orlais. We're going to go to the Exalted Plains to try to bring some peace to the region. Word will spread via the ripple effect and the invitation will eventually arrive. That'll take time so the sooner we act there the better, and then we can crack on and go to Crestwood, etc, while we're waiting for the tales of our heroics to get back to Val Royeaux."  


"Huh." Varric appeared dumbfounded. "I thought you hated politics? Sounds like you know what you're taking about."  


"I like politics very much, believe it or not. I detest the Game, though, so I can understand why you would think that."  


They reached the bottom of the staircase and spotted from across the courtyard that Cassandra was in her usual spot, demolishing dummies. Jemima's heart jumped into her throat at the sight of the Seeker working up a sweat. She was going to need every advantage available to her if this was to work.  


"So," she nervously approached the subject with Varric, "did you manage to include the little request I made?"  


"I did," he nodded "but you said 'subliminal' so it's very subtle. You might not even notice it if you read it yourself. Still pining?"  


"Thank you, Varric" Jemima said gratefully but then grimaced "Yes. Very badly and oh so painfully. I'm hoping this might turn the tide."  


"Fingers crossed for you, Strawberry" he finished, with sympathy in his eyes.  
  
As soon as they strode over together, Cassandra sussed that something was afoot. After a bit of argy-bargy, Varric played the card up his sleeve and teased the freshly bound book in the Seeker's face whilst threatening to reveal spoilers. All pretence on Cassandra's side slipped immediately and she rushed to grab it out of the dwarf's hand.  


"I... Thank you" and smiled directly at the Inquisitor. Jemima nearly melted right there and then but managed to stutter out that Varric was the one to thank. He merely smugly walked away, his enjoyment complete.  


"I wonder if I have time for the first part."  


"I'm really sorry, Seeker Pentaghast. As much as I'm desperate find out what happens next as well, I'm afraid I was originally on my way to inform you that we'll be heading off for the Exalted Plains within the hour. Bring it with you."  


"No. It is the only copy and far too precious to take on the road. I will read it when we return."  


"Then I insist, I will place it in the safe in my quarters. It has the only confirmed Sera-proof lock in Skyhold."  


"I... suppose you are right. I do not wish her to use it in one of her childish pranks while we're away."  


"It's settled then. I'll meet you at the stables as soon as possible."  
  
Jemima walked back to her quarters. She had already packed the night before in expectation of the latest trip but her companions would be at least half an hour to be fully prepared. _That went really well. She seems chuffed to bits with the gesture and I didn't go to pieces in her company for once. This is going to be a good day._ She moved over to put the book in the safe but paused. Curiosity got the better of her and she flicked through the pages looking for the requested pairing. When she found it, she immediately broke out in a cold sweat.  


_Aye, subtle your hairy arse, Varric! 'The Finder of Non-Porky Pies and The Questioner.' Seriously?! You couldn't think of something other than synonyms for our titles?!_ Panic quickly set in. _Shit, buggery bollocks and fuck-a-doodle-do! She's going to twig as soon as she reads this! And then promptly strangle me, closely followed by Varric for ruining her favourite story! Aw FUCK! What to do, what to do?_ Taking a deep breath, she thought it through. _Right, I'm going to have to give her a fairly obvious hint about my feelings before she reads this and it slaps her in the face like a wet fish. So on this trip then. Just need to hope the right situation arises. I'll have another quick squint at this book to see if it has any good lines or tips._

* * *

The trip to the Exalted Plains was a great victory for the Inquisition. They had successfully cleared the eastern and western ramparts, Fort Revasan, and the Riverside Garrison of the Freemen of the Dales and their undead army. Ideally, Jemima wished to investigate the citadel they could see across the lake but that required the bridge being rebuilt, which would take a few weeks. These deeds would be sure to catch the attention of both sides of Orlais' civil war so she felt their task was now complete. Unfortunately for Jemima, battling unending swathes of corpses did not make for the most romantic of settings and, unsurprisingly, the opportunity to discuss more personal matters with Cassandra had not presented itself. On the plus side, she hadn't embarrassed herself in the Seeker's company any further over the course of the expedition, remaining determined and professional throughout. However, she also realised she was now out of time and unless she said something imminently, Cassandra would find out from Varric's heavy handed story, which would be bad. Very bad.  


The party had gathered at The Path of Flame camp, expecting to be given word to return to Skyhold. Jemima's mind was buzzing from the frenzied creation of hypothetical scenarios she could try to create with Cassandra before they got back to their base of operations. None of these appeared to be particularly plausible- where would she find a white dove, studded leather gloves, and mini Orlesian cheese wheels at such short notice? She remembered her previous conversation with Dorian. _Just be myself and make a subtle, playful comment. Do this just now and a couple more on the way back. Maybe some nice situation will present itself along the way and it can happen a bit more naturally but a wee comment now to start it off._  
  
Varric started the group discussion. "So, Strawberry, looks like you've got all your political plates spinning now. We done here?"  


"We are indeed. Time to find the horses and set off back to Skyhold."  


Dorian was next. "Thank the Maker. I am in desperate need of a change of clothes. I've been unable to rid myself of the stench of corpses for days now."  


"Didn't want to say, but now you mention it..."  


Cassandra spoke last. "We have done well. I will ask Scout Harding to send word to Leliana that we are on our way."  


Jemima froze. _Think think think! Something witty and charming and subtle and in context! Think damnit!_ The long silence had now attracted the attention of the full group. _Oh no, they're all looking at me now. Just say something! Anything! Wing it!_  


Jemima looked the Seeker directly in the eyes and whispered seductively a line she had somehow remembered from page 72- "not as lovely as you."  


Cassandra gave out a Disgusted Noise™, chastising Jemima with "would you please stop this larking around?!" This was closely followed by her growling "I blame your influence, Tevinter" at Dorian, then promptly storming off. Dorian's expression changed from biting his fist in the most over-emphasised cringe that had ever adorned a human face to one of mock offence at the latter comment.  


"Well, that was uncalled for" he grumbled after the Seeker. Walking closer to the Inquisitor, he commented "I see you decided to forego subtlety entirely then?"  


"Too obvious?"  


"Just a tad. Where in that peculiar little head of yours did that pop out from?"  


"I have no fucking idea" Jemima quietly and dejectedly mumbled. "What have I done?"  


Varric burst out laughing and wandered over, reassuring her "don't worry, Inquisitor. You've still got the new chapter to fall back on. I thought that was to warm her up? Why'd you jump right in there both feet first?"  


Her frustration bubbled to the surface. "Urgh, because of that book! That's why! I had a quick read over the story and it's even more blatant than that shocking display I just made. 'The Finder of Non-Porky Pies' and 'The Questioner?'"  


"Oh, this is just priceless!" Dorian chuckled. "I knew your writing was dumbed down, Varric, but this is something else entirely."  


"Hey! I did what was asked of me. Last time I take requests if this is how I get treated" the dwarf shouted angrily.  


Jemima put her hands up. "I'm sorry, Varric. I shouldn't have said anything. It was a silly idea on my part. You're not to blame. I apologise for letting my temper get the better of me there."  


"It's a good thing I like you, Strawberry. Just don't involve me in any of this shit again." Varric stomped off to collect his horse.  


"This is going to be a very awkward trip back" Jemima sighed defeatedly.  


"True. The one silver lining, I suppose, is that although it wasn't done in the manner you would have wished, at least Cassandra probably knows how you feel about her now?" Dorian mused.  
  
The return journey to Skyhold lived up to Jemima's prediction and was summarised by silence. Only the Inquisitor and Dorian were still on good terms and they dared not speak for fear of exacerbating the situation. When they arrived back, Jemima was called into the War Room for a debriefing on their missions, then immediately retreated to her quarters wanting some alone time. She lay on her bed with her arms behind her head, thinking over the events of the last few days. She was beating herself up internally when there was a knock at the door. Allowing entry, Cassandra appeared. Jemima jumped off the bed, flustered "how can I help you, Seeker?"  


"I am here to collect my book."  


"Of course. How could I forget?" She unlocked the safe and handed Cassandra the novel with a forlorn look. The Seeker took it gratefully and started to make her way towards the exit but paused and turned around. "Inquisitor, I was hoping we could speak privately?"  


"Are we not?"  


"Right. Of course we are." Cassandra was struggling, seeming as uneasy as Jemima usually was around her. After a pause, she managed to blurt out what was bothering her. "The flirting, with me. I've noticed it..."

 


	4. Chapter 4

The Herald's Rest was an easy target for derision. The ale was never as good as it was in Orzammar, Denerim, Val Royeaux or wherever the complainant considered to be home. The floors were sticky. The food consisted of an unidentifiable grey meat. The service was surly. The bard never shut up. There was always a weird smell with distinct undercurrents of stale sweat, wet dog and either piss or beer. Nobody was ever sure which was which on the latter and many debates had raged late into the night trying to decipher the difference.  
  
Despite the endless, casual mocking of the pub, there could be no denying that the Herald's Rest was a crucial hub within Skyhold. At the time of the opening, the newly-appointed Inquisitor had buoyantly proclaimed "The team that drinks together wins together!" This caused a rather diverse reaction amongst her inner circle- Sera, Bull, and Varric had whooped and cheered, Solas and Vivienne shook their heads in disgust, Cassandra buried her head in her hands (but managed to resist grunting) and Josephine flustered at the boorish exclamation, her mind working overtime as to how this could be spun into something that did not actually encourage mass binge drinking amongst the citizens of Skyhold, as well as worrying about all the future fires she could envisage having to put out due to the new leader's lack of decorum.  
  
The inn acted as a scarily accurate social barometer to judge the morale of the Inquisition's forces at any one time. Cabot could always sum up the mood in a single word but it usually just took a couple of steps inside the door to gauge if things were going their way or not. If it was quiet, the troops were anxious. If it was boisterous, a great victory had just occurred or was confidently expected. If Maryden was singing a slow song, the mood was contemplative. Or she was trying to soothe away the collective headaches of the hungover team, an effort that usually resulted in tankards or shoes being thrown in her general direction.  
  
This evening, though, the mood was decidedly mixed and could not be read as easily as usual. What had started as an evening full of high spirits had dampened down somewhat when their illustrious leader had made an appearance. She had been greeted with a customary cheer but didn't even appear to acknowledge the warm welcome. Instead, the Inquisitor had shuffled with her head hung low to the bar, sat on an empty stool and placed her forehead on the slightly beer-sodden counter. Jemima had not moved from this position for the last half hour.  
  
Bull, with his understated powers of perception, had immediately leapt into action as soon as her head had hit the bar, first telling Krem to "go get Dorian" in a hushed tone then loudly booming "That's the most half-assed attempt at burning the candle at both ends that I've ever seen! Told you that you couldn't keep up with me and Sera" as he sauntered over and blocked the crowd from Jemima using the sheer scale of his body. The tactic worked and chatter resumed once it became clear that there would be nothing more to see here, although wild whispers could be heard hissing through the air. "You ok boss?" Bull quietly enquired. He was met with silence. The Qunari sighed and resumed his bodyguard duty. After a few minutes, the Inquisitor briefly snapped out of her catatonic state to blurt out "I'm a woman?" then returned to the frenzied inner workings of her own mind, all of which more or less confirmed Bull's suspicions that their leader had lost the plot.  
  
Dorian went against his better nature and surreptitiously slid to Jemima's side when he eventually made it to the tavern. He quirked an eyebrow at Bull, who shrugged his massive shoulders in response. "Has she said anything?" the mage queried.

"Nothing other than remembering she's female."

Gingerly, Dorian sat in the adjacent stool to Jemima and placed a comforting hand on her arm, which was dangling due to her slumped position. No reaction. With a sigh, he looked up at Bull and said "I have an inkling as to what has happened." The giant warrior slightly raised his eyebrows. Facing away from Jemima and using his hand to whisper an aside, the Tevinter explained "I believe our poor friend has had her advances spurned," shaking his head in pity.

"Ah" Bull nodded. After a brief pause he asked "Cassandra?"

Perplexed, Dorian quizzically started "how did you..?"

"Ben Hassrath, remember?"

"Of course. How could I ever forget" the mage grumbled. He turned back to Jemima and placed his arm around her shoulder, cooing gentle words of encouragement in her ear, again to no response. Resignedly, he beckoned Cabot over and ordered an Antivan sherry for himself and a Qunari ale for Bull. Handing the drink to the warrior, he added "a token of my thanks for looking after her. For a hulking great brute of a man, you do surprise me with your sensitivity."

Bull grunted a noise of approval. "Don't let that become public knowledge. Diminishes the whole mindless weapon persona I've spent years crafting. Besides, I did it for the Boss and the morale of the soldiers, not for you, Vint."

"Ah, and there it is." Dorian rolled his eyes. This again. How many times did he have to explain that his country of birth had no sweeping correlation with his character? Sounding bored, he explained "I may be a proud member of the Imperium but that does not necessarily mean I share many of the stereotypical attitudes and behaviours the rest of Thedas believes we homogeneously hold. I am neither a maleficar nor a megalomaniac and I am as much of a pariah in my homeland as I am in Skyhold, I'll have you know."

"Mmmhmmm" Bull dismissively grunted. "That may be true but my experiences have taught me to never trust a Vint so I'll be keeping my eye on you."

"Oh for the love of..." the mage threw his arms in the air in frustration. Exasperated, he argued "I have fought and killed more of my countrymen in the name of the Inquisition over the recent weeks than most of your Qunari compatriots have in their lifetimes. I shared intelligence with the advisors and placed a dear friend in danger as a result. I turned against my mentor because it was the right thing to do and brought the fabled Herald of Andraste back from the fucking future for crying out loud! What more do I have to do to prove my loyalty?!"

Bull calmly took a large swig of his drink then looked Dorian directly in the eyes, answering "I've also found from experience that the pretty ones are always the worst." Casting a glance up and down, appraising the mage, he concluded in a low rumble "they need to be watched the closest."

The Tevinter mage was rendered speechless and blinked in disbelief. A small smirk crossed the giant warrior's face, smug with the knowledge he had gleamed from the interaction. Dorian flustered "b...but that's preposterous! Not me being pretty, of course not, but..."

"Dorian of House Pavus flabbergasted?" A small mumble snapped both the warrior and the mage's attentions to the pathetic figure at the bar. Sitting up, turning and rubbing the small of her back she continued "I never thought I'd see the day" finishing with a weak smile.

"She speaks!" Bull laughed jovially.

"Welcome back to reality, my dear friend." Dorian reached over and patted her shoulders, giving her hair a ruffle when he was finished. "So, do you want to talk about it?"

The Inquisitor rubbed her flushed face, wiping long dried tears away from her eyes and cast a glance at Bull. Taking the hint, he made his excuses and returned to the Chargers. Struggling to piece together the fragmented thoughts in her head, Jemima opened with the short version- "she rejected me, as you've probably worked out."

Sitting back on the stool, Dorian swivelled to face Jemima and grasped both her hands, pulling them so she turned to meet his sympathetic gaze. "I'm so sorry, Trevelyan. Truly." Giving her hands a gentle squeeze, he remained quiet, waiting for Jemima to find the words. She opened her mouth several times to speak but nothing came out. Dorian decided some alcoholic beverages may aid in lubricating the mute Inquisitor's tongue and ordered two more sherries. Handing one to his friend after Cabot had obliged him, he prompted "Why don't you just start by telling me what happened when you got back, hmm?"

Jemima nodded, placing her drink back on the counter and then slapped her cheeks a few times to find some focus. Knocking back the drink in one, she signalled to the bartender for another. "I don't even like sherry to be honest" she gave a light snort. "Thank you Cabot. Keep them coming." The barkeep slammed the bottle next to the pair and walked away. "Service with a smile as always" Dorian quipped as he refilled Jemima's glass. "So..."

_Where to begin?_ Although she had been replaying the conversation on loop since it had taken place, it was now disjointed. The 30 second discussion had been battered around her head so much that she knew her emotions had now changed the memory into a bastardised version of itself. _Try to stick to the facts, not the feelings._

"Ok, so she came up to my room to get Varric's bloody book. Then she started acting all nervous. I've never seen her like that before. She wanted to talk. Never a good thing in my experience." Jemima paused and downed her second sherry. Dorian remained silent but dutifully topped up her empty glass. Whistling out the warmth, she continued "Cassandra said that she had noticed my flirting with her. I didn't attempt to deny it, seeing as Varric's book will give the game away entirely anyway. Plus I'm stupidly honest and can't lie for toffee. Another example of me being a crap rogue." Bracing herself, Jemima started unconsciously drumming her hands on the bar counter, looking away from Dorian as she replayed the remainder of the Seeker's words. "She told me that she cannot return my affections. I am the Inquisitor, The Herald of Andraste and, this is my favourite, a woman. She said she hoped we could remain friends and then said something about not wanting to fill out a sexual harassment in the workplace form because it would take her the rest of the week? It's a bit hazy by that point to be honest. I might've made that last part up during my little mental meltdown just there" she finished with a groan. Facepalming, she asked of her friend "how could I be so stupid, Dorian?"

Gently, the mage tried to open up the conversation. "Whyever do you feel foolish?"

With a loud snort of derision, Jemima listed "Take your pick! That I stupidly thought my titles would be overlooked by someone who holds as many as myself? That she was interested in other ladies? That I could be so far up my own arse that I could think I even stood a chance with someone as beautiful and awe-inspiring as her?! I'm a total fuckwit!" Quietening, she pondered "Has the power gone to my head?"

Dorian chuckled "if it had, my overly self-critical friend, I daresay we would be drinking Orlesian cognac rather than Antivan brandy in your quarters, surrounded by priceless antiques and golden furnishings with a bevy of beauties queued out the door to satisfy our every salacious need. I think you're being rather egalitarian, all things considered. Certainly, I would have requisitioned all manner of lovely things by now were I in your shoes. Not that I would ever wear those insults to the eyes" emphasising with a pointed finger "even if it did grant me the trappings of which I speak."

Jemima smirked "well, that's one thing at least."

"I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you smile," Dorian affectionately patted the Inquisitor's hand, "however, at the risk of souring your mood once more, I fear I would be a rather cowardly companion if I did not question some of what you just said. Firstly, what did you mean by overlooking your titles? Why would this be a good thing?"

"The fact you don't know what I meant suggests you wouldn't get it, Altus" giving Dorian a mock pointed look. "Let's just say I have been seduced because of my title in the past and now I've been rejected partly because of them. Admittedly, I've picked up a couple in the interim and those were the ones flung in my face during the conversation. But it just doesn't sit right with me that she detests being called the Hero of Orlais, yet has no issue in using my titles at all times and then using them as a reason to shoot me down? Anyway, sorry, I was wittering away there; back to your original point- I'm looking for someone who likes me for me, not because of my titles. I guess the fact she spurned me because of them is a good thing in that respect. But I thought someone like her would be all too aware that they're just bullshit and shouldn't define you."

"Well," Pavus pondered, "what you were saying does make some sense but I'm more inclined to believe she was getting at what the titles represent, rather than the honorifics themselves. You are the Inquisitor and, by that, her immediate superior. Moreover, being the Herald of Andraste has undeniable, and in your case, dear friend, unbelievable holy connotations so, being the pious Percy that she is, fancying a naughty game of mages and templars with you would be deeply blasphemous."

"Ah... yes." The penny dropped. She had been so caught up in the past hurts that came from having a pompous prefix to her name that she had lost sight of the fact her new labels did signify more than mere grandeur. "That actually makes complete sense." Adding with a dry tone "fucking titles. Coming along like they own the place and spoiling all my fun."

Dorian played along "I'm rather partial to my own. Please don't banish them from the realm before you relinquish your own title and power?"

"I highly doubt Josephine would let that decree through, somehow."

"Naturally. But back to your second point- that Cassandra isn't interested in you because you're a woman. I must admit I am rather surprised at that revelation myself so don't feel dense for thinking otherwise." Grasping his friend's hands again, he knew he had to hit home with the next statement. To be cruel to be kind. "It is, however, a definitive reason so, unfortunately, that is something you are just going to have to accept. It's never going to happen. I'm sorry, Jemima."

"Yeah, I know" she sighed. She'd known this herself as soon as the words had been spoken by Cassandra but finality of it still hurt. Had she not given this reason, Jemima wasn't sure if she would continue to harbour feelings for the Seeker, determined to overcome whatever deficiencies she was deemed to have. It was for the best in some ways. A cold, clean break. "That's that then. I must've been so besotted I just saw what I wanted to" she reasoned, leaning her elbow on the counter and running her hand through her hair, the other lifting her thimble glass to sip her sherry at an awkward angle.

"Possibly" Dorian sobered, relived that his friend had accepted his last point. Wanting to try to lift Jemima's spirits after the previous subject, he dismissedly waved "as for the self-disparaging question, well that is just pish tosh and poppycock. You would be a catch for anyone."

Jemima groaned and blushed simultaneously, not being one to take compliments well.

"Now, if only we could get you in a dress. And to look up the definition of 'accessorising' in the dictionary, yes?"

"No dresses! Absolutely not! And, I do have accessories. Look- two rings and an amulet!"

"I meant for aesthetic purposes, not battlefield prowess."

"Pfft, what's the point in that?"

"Oh Jemima, I often wonder how it is that I best serve the Inquisition. Discussions such as this make me inclined to believe that imparting even a smidgen of my impeccable taste on you would be far more beneficial than my admittedly marvellous magical abilities. Not to mention my dazzling charm, wit and good looks, of course." He paused to stroke his chin and gaze upwards. "Hmmm, that is a tricky one. So many wonderful attributes. How does one possibly rank them?"

"Whatever would I do without you, Dorian?" Jemima grinned. "No, seriously" she mused as she replenished their drinks. Raising a toast, "thank you Dorian. You've helped me beyond measure this evening. To the bestest best friend in the land!"

"And to you desperately needing a thesaurus, old bean" he added with a wink.  


* * *

 

The Chargers were spread out around their claimed side of the Herald's Rest. Krem had been verbally sparring with Bull for most of the evening. He had even got in a couple that earned a grudging nod of appreciation from his Chief, though his attention had now shifted to watching Maryden singing. Skinner was holding the rest of the mercenary crew audience, ranting about the wicked Shem. Again. Having noticed the Inquisitor's lifted spirits from his permanent seat in the tavern, Bull decided to join his other companions now that the touchy freely crap was out the way and having already heard this particular vitriolic stream of verbal diarrhoea numerous times in the past.  
  
"Boss!" he exclaimed as he slapped Trevelyan's shoulder and sent her flying off the stool. "Oh, uh, sorry about that" he mumbled as he picked her up and placed her back where she had been seated in one effortless move. "Anyway, glad to see you coherent again."

Jemima was a little dizzy and dazed for her brief journey to the floor and back again, although that was not entirely Bull's fault. The booze had given her a nice warm and fuzzy feel by now, her face and neck flushed as further proof of this. "Bull, Bull, Bull! Come join us!" Spinning on the stool, she beckoned Cabot back over. "Juice for Bull, please. Cheers muchly." The grumpy bar steward plonked a stein of ale on the counter and walked away muttering under his breath.

"Thanks Boss" the Qunari spoke as he extended his arm between Dorian and Jemima to grab his drink, not even having to step in to stretch past them to the bar. "You doing better?"

"Ach, nah, I'm still pretty shit to be honest" Jemima divulged earnestly. "But the lovely and devilishly handsome Lord Pavus has helped enormously" looking at the mage affectionately and giving him a playful punch to the upper arm.

"Uh huh. So, lemme guess- lady problems?"

"Are you asking if I have a problem with a certain lady or if I'm on the jam?"

"And there was me thinking that I couldn't be any more repulsed by female anatomy than I already am. I was wrong" Dorian winced. "Thank you for introducing that particularly descriptive phrase to my vocabulary."

As Jemima blew the mage a kiss in jest, Bull clarified "the former."

"You guess correct. Well done. You win a prize. Ha ha ha! Prize Bull! I didn't even mean that!" The Inquisitor started laughing until she cried at her absolutely amazingly hilarious wit. Nobody else appeared to acknowledge this. In fact most of the pub stared at her in confusion.

When Jemima eventually composed herself, Dorian tried to move on from the moment with an elongated "aaaaanyway... despite the inadvertent 'joke' you do make an astute observation. The way our companion parades about one would be forgiven for mistaking him as having been put out to stud" levelling an accusatory stare at the warrior.

The Qunari quirked his eyebrow and challenged "jealous of the competition?"

"Oh please, don't flatter yourself" Dorian answered with a dismissive hand wave.

"We'll see" Bull smugly smirked. "Anyway, sorry Boss, I can't help you with the emotional crap. My advice- find someone to make you feel better."

"I already told you- Dorian has helped to take my mind off it."

"Uh, that wasn't what I meant."

"I believe our promiscuous colleague was suggesting you seek comfort in the arms of another" the mage clarified.

"What? NO! I can't do that!" Jemima recoiled instantly.

"Why not?" Bull rumbled with his arms folded.

"Well, because, I mean, just no!" Trevelyan flustered. "I can't even think about being with someone else just now."

"Again, why not?" Bull's stance remained unchanged.

"It just wouldn't seem right. I've been so hung up on..." Remembering that Bull, to her knowledge, was not aware that Cassandra was the object of her affections, "a certain someone for so long that it'll take some time to adjust my naughty thoughts onto someone else."

Bull retorted "there's a lot to be said for doing as opposed to thinking." His lips quirked, adding "an approach Cassandra seems to live by as well." Jemima stopped shaking her head and paused to look at the warrior upon his last statement. Suspiciously, she turned her gaze to Dorian.

Raising his hands in defence, the Tevinter spoke before the Inquisitor even voiced her thoughts. "I know what you're thinking but, no, I didn't let the cat out the bag. The clever, cunning Qunari worked it out all by himself. He's not so much of a lummox as he makes out."

Jemima groaned. It was embarrassing enough to be turned down by the Seeker without everyone else knowing about it. Returning her focus to Bull, she said "that approach works very well for you and I do envy you for it to a certain extent. I just don't think it would work for me. Besides, I went through my slutty phase a few years ago and have no intention of going back to it."

"Phase?" The Qunari slightly tilted his head in confusion.

Dorian lightly chuckled at Bull then casually pondered "you know, I'm sure a brief relapse would be forgivable under the circumstances." Looking out the corner of his eye at Jemima to make sure he hadn't overstepped the mark, he continued "it's not actually the worst idea ever and may very well give you the confidence boost you need to get through this ghastly situation."

Jemima shook her head again and knocked back another thimble of sherry. "Yeeeuch! I don't think I'll ever be able to drink this stuff again after tonight" she grimaced.  
Bull called Cabot back over and ordered two of the ales he had been drinking all evening, keeping one for himself and handing the other to Trevelyan. "Here ya go Boss. Try this. It'll put some chest on your chest" clinking their pewter pitchers together. "Maybe literally if it helps to get that stick out your ass and find a playmate for the night" he added with a wink.

* * *

  
Ooft, it was strong stuff. A pint and a half later, Jemima felt like she could fight a dragon unarmed. She was charming and funny and not as ugly as she thought and charming. And she could dance! _You know, it really has been quite some time. It would be lovely to have a wee cuddle with someone, even if it didn't go any further than that. Well, it would be better if it went MUCH further than that but not to a proper relationship. I could use a distraction. Being Inquisitor is hard. Wait- that could be my opening line! Go for the sympathy vote! Maybe I will go out on the sniff tonight. Does that make me a horrible person? And a bad leader? Urgh, I don't know._  
  
Leaving Bull and Dorian's rapidly escalating discussion on the treatment of mages, she jumped off her stool with a surprising grace (that she would never be able to pull off sober) and headed towards the bathroom. Scanning the inn, she nodded and smiled at those who said hello. Just as she was approaching the door, a dark-haired dwarf with prominent facial tattoos waved and caught her eye, in more ways than one. From the look of her armour, she was a warrior. Of course, the large battle axe that looked comically ginormous on the dwarf's back also gave that away. The woman was unconventionally striking- robustly powerful, for sure, but curvy in a way that guaranteed great snuggles. Pale blue eyes contrasted distinctively with her dark markings. She smiled and beckoned the Inquisitor to join her, showing off her endearing dimples through the expression. The fact she wore her hair in bunches just sealed the deal for the rogue, who quickly surmised that this made her adorable. _Ach, fuck it. Tee hee hee- maybe if I play my cards right!_ Jemima grinned to herself and jogged on over. _Right, don't go for anything too fancy. Haven't done this for a long time. Play it safe._ With her most winning smile, she said "Hi there. Can I buy you a drink?"  
  
The warrior raised an empty pint glass, which the Inquisitor took as an affirmative. With a skip in her step, she collected a fresh ale for each of them and returned to the table.

"So, yeah, I'm Jemima. What's your name?" Rather than answer, the dwarf picked up her glass, tilted her head back and downed the entirety of its contents within a couple of heartbeats. Astounded, Jemima blurted "Shit! How the fuck did you do that?!" Then composed herself into 'smooth' mode again. "That's the quickest I've ever seen anyone do that before by quite some distance! Very impressive! Where did you learn how?" Again, the diminutive warrior raised her glass, indicating that she wished a refill. A bit put out, Jemima duly took the empty glass back to the bar to replenish it. On returning, the same thing happened.

"Oh, twice now? You're just showing off, aren't you?" Trevelyan asked with a wink, trying to hide her unease at the bizarre interaction. The dwarf nodded and raised her glass again. Jemima shook her head and insisted "only if you tell me your name." She received no response. Teasingly, Jemima lilted "go ooooon. You can whisper it in my ear if you're shy" and bent her head towards the warrior's mouth in a light-hearted manner. The woman scowled in answer. Frustrated, the Inquisitor stood back and asked "why won't you tell me your name? I don't understand. Have I offended you?" Not realising that her volume control had been adversely affected by her imbibition, the last couple of questions had been overheard by those in the adjoining seats and she realised she now had an audience.  
  
One of the onlookers, another dwarven woman, quickly rose from her chair and took Jemima aside by the elbow. In hushed tones, she informed the Inquisitor that her friend did not mean any offence by not speaking. She was, in fact, a Silent Sister, a member of the rather extreme warrior order that required recruits to cut out their own tongue as part of their joining, and the woman with whom Jemima was conversing was her translator. She also politely suggested that Trevelyan may want to turn her attentions elsewhere.  
  
Mortified, the Inquisitor quickly took her leave, re-joining Bull and Dorian, who had watched the entire scene play out but were in the dark as to why the promising interaction had ended so abruptly.

"What happened, Boss? That her old lady?" Bull enquired.

"Her translator. She's a Silent Sister."

The pair buckled over laughing: Bull's loud roars and Dorian's guffawing turned the gaze of the entire pub towards the three of them. When they finally settled, Jemima grumbled "no tongue? What's the fucking point of that?" which set her two companions off again, this time Bull was crying tears of laughter into his folded arm on the bar whilst uncontrollably slapping his hand off the counter and Dorian was now bent over with his hands on his knees, wheezing for breath. "You guys are bellends. I'm away to bed" the Inquisitor sulked and slunk away but quickly doubled back to take the now only quarter-full bottle of brandy with her.  
  
The fresh air hit Jemima pretty hard when she left the tavern. Taking a swig from the bottle unbalanced her and she nearly ended up in one of the bushes outside the Herald's Rest but managed to correct it into a zigzagged path towards the stairs. Pausing for a moment against one of the stone steps, she managed to compose herself somewhat and safely made it back to her quarters a couple of minutes later. As soon as she got in the room she stripped completely, feeling she was tainted by failure and rejection and wanting to rid herself of everything about this shitty shitty day. She used the chamber pot, washed her hands in a small bowl of cold water and scrubbed her face with a washcloth. It didn't help. Now alone with her thoughts and without the encouraging distraction of her friends, the reality of the situation came crashing down on her.

_I'm an idiot. A complete and utter fucking idiot. Cassandra wouldn't be interested even if she did swing that way. Will she even want to be around me anymore? Will this potentially screw up the Inquisition? I couldn't even pull a random tonight. I must be hideous. And destined to be alone forever. Maybe Cole can find me a cat?_

Self-loathing gnawed away at Jemima, cringing and punching the bed in frustration with every suddenly prolific memory of her shortcomings that popped into her head. Anything and everything from the fresh burn of the day's events, to a faux pas made at her first War Council meeting, to the time she made her best childhood friend cry due to a poorly worded comment. She started to take large swigs of her drink to try to block it all out to no avail initially. Eventually though, the sherry was duly finished and whilst it did not help the thoughts, it did manage to lull the Inquisitor into a dreamless sleep.  
  
The next morning was not pretty. Jemima's head felt like druffalos were on a never ending circular stampede within it, her mouth was as parched as the Hissing Wastes and she was pretty sure she was suffering from gut rot. Then the painful memories of the previous day started to come back to her in patches. The end of the evening was a bit of a blur (thankfully) but she didn't need to think through a drunken haze to recall the event that had hurt her the most- getting shut down by Cassandra. Feeling completely sorry for herself, she had a bit of a cry to try to let it all out. All the hopes she had for what could have been, followed by trying to accept that what’s for you won’t go by you. Her head and heart were diametrically opposed. When the tears finally passed, she tried to gauge the time of day from the position of the sun.

_Oh bollocks! The meeting in the War Room has probably already started!  
_

Jemima jumped out of bed and abruptly fell back into it, proving she was still under the influence. Deliberately, she stood up and was able to dress herself, although the socks took a few attempts. Looking at herself in the mirror in contempt, she swept her hair forward so it covered most of her face in a futile attempt to hide her bloodshot eyes. Realising this was daft, she just redid it normally. _Maybe I should get a hood like Leliana? *gasp* Is that why her face is always covered?! Is she a raging alchie?!_  
Glaring into her own reflected eyes, Jemima tried to steel herself for the coming day.

_Right Trevelyan. Time to put on your big girl pants. Suck it up. You're the Inquisitor dammit! You can't let this affect your work.  
_

Grabbing a handful of mint leaves on her way out the door, she vigorously chewed on them all the way towards the War Room, spitting the remnants out of the hole in the wall just before the imposing door.  
  
The meeting went surprisingly well and finished in record time. Rather than the four talking in circles for hours on end, the Inquisitor made her decisions quickly but fairly, not in any mood to mess about. Everyone was rather satisfied with the outcome and grateful for the unexpected spare time. Cullen took full advantage of this and quickly departed for his office with a bundle of reports under his arm, Leliana and Josephine left the room conversing about some noble causing both of them aggro and Jemima pretended to pore over the map until she was alone then ran to open the window, fighting the wave of nausea that had been afflicting her for several minutes. It passed, thankfully, and the Inquisitor shakily headed for her room.

As she was passing by, she overheard Leliana and Josephine finishing their discussion on some Lady Forsythia of Nevarra, the Spymaster nodding to Jemima as she spun around and took her leave. Despite feeling like death warmed up, Trevelyan didn't want her self-inflicted ailments to impair her duties so she mildly asked if there was anything she could do to help. Josephine graciously explained that she had matters in hand, revealing her strategy as to how to placate the noblewoman's colourful threats. The two chatted amiably for several minutes about the Lady's concerns and her past actions, which prompted a confession from Josephine that she missed having the opportunity to bounce ideas off her previous members of staff in preparation for and in the aftermath of negotiations.

"You can always talk to me, you know?" Jemima offered.

"I would not wish to impose" the Ambassador tentatively responded.

"I insist. Plus we have some unexpected free time. We may as well make the most of this opportunity."

"But of course! Shall I send for some tea and cakes and we can discuss some potential alliances?"

Jemima's stomach churned at the thought of anything being granted entry. _I can't back out now! Air! Fresh air! That'd be good. The garden would be ideal but it's too public. We may be overheard.  
_

"Actually, I realise it may be rather unorthodox but would you mind if we continued this on the balcony in my chambers? It's so high up I doubt even Leliana's little birdies can eavesdrop. It may be more appropriate if we are to be potentially discussing sensitive information?"

"That sounds most agreeable. After you, Inquisitor.”  
  
A couple hours later, the two were still chatting away, although the conversation had moved on quite some time ago from Inquisition business to Josephine partly venting, partly gossiping about the various unpleasant so-and-so's she had to deal with on a daily basis. Jemima was more than happy to allow her this little indulgence, primarily as it was abundantly clear that the Ambassador could do with a terribly polite rant, but also her hungover brain had been finding it difficult to piece words together at a normal pace. Regardless, she felt it had been a lovely afternoon- Josephine was delightful company and full of entertaining tales, although she had quickly realised they had very different interpretations of the word 'scandalous.' Noticing the position of the sun, the Ambassador threw her hand to her face as she realised just how much time they had spent on the balcony.

"Goodness! Has it been that long?"

"Time flies and all that" Jemima smiled.

"You must think me quite the gossip. I apologise for taking up so much of your time, Inquisitor."

Trevelyan chuckled "yes, because spending time with a beautiful, engaging woman is such a hardship! Don't be daft, Lady Moniliyet. It's been a pleasure."

"I...I'm glad I haven't wasted your day" Josephine mildly flustered, continuing "but I really should leave you to it. Good day, your Worship"

Jemima groaned after her "please don't call me that, Ambassador," which was met with a sly smirk as Josephine elegantly descended the stairs. Shaking her head fondly and smiling, the Inquisitor reflected on her thoroughly enjoyable time in the Antivan's company.

_Aw, she's so lovely. I really do need to make more time for her whenever I'm back in Skyhold. That was great fun. I can't believe someone as eligible as her hasn't been snapped up a long time ago. Mind you, she is certainly very dedicated to her role. But, Maker, her future husband is a very lucky man indeed._

 


End file.
